My Pretty Kitty
by Bismillah
Summary: A parody of My Fair Lady, in which Nathaniel plays Henry Higgins, and Kitty plays Eliza Doolittle. Against all the odds, who would believe that a lowlife commoner could pass off as a high class magician? Nathaniel sees to it that they do... NatKitty
1. Nathaniel: The Gambling Sort

Greetings, to whoever shall read this fic. Thanks for stopping by and hopefully you'd take time to review. Anyway, this is sort of a parody of My Fair Lady, where Nathaniel is sort of Henry Higgins, incredibly arrogant prat, who we still somehow still love (like he is in the book) and Kitty is Eliza Doolittle, feisty and defiant commoner (like she is in the book). I'm afraid that Bartimaeus may not appear in this story, seeing as though I yet to find any relevance with him and the story, but I'll try to work something out. Jane Farrar (I know many people don't like her, but her character is so fun to write on) will be appearing quite a lot, and a number of the magicians. Thanks for clicking on the link and please take time to review! Happy reading...

_**My Pretty Kitty**_

_**Chapter 1**_

_Nathaniel: The Gambling Sort_

It was a fine day in the political mile of Westminster and the mood in Whitehall had been quite pleasing for a while. The sun had been very generous with its light and warmth and the workload given to Nathaniel had been very easy to accomplish. It was quite a far cry from the usual dreariness Nathaniel went through each day. Work was usually extremely brutal and the weather had always seemed to be empathizing with the moods Nathaniel had been feeling. The young magician allowed himself a little walk and on the way out he spotted Jane Farrar and decided to ask her to join him. She begrudgingly accepted his invitation to his surprise.

Nathaniel saw no point in denying to himself that Jane Farrar intrigued him. Although he had been witness to her, less than desirable side, his interest had been peaked even more. With her slender frame, lustrous brown hair, and green eyes, she turned the composed young magician into a stuttering little boy with a face, redder than a tomato. It was impossible for him to decipher how she felt about him. Her sleek movements and sultry voice constantly left him in a daze.

The young magician did not think that idle chitchat would appease the sophisticated Jane Farrar. He instantly cursed himself as they stepped out the door, realizing that his skills with women were not as apt as he would like to think, but it was far too late for him to turn back. He summoned all his confidence, and continued on with the promenade.

After they walked short distance in silence, Nathaniel turned around to face his companion with a cocky expression on his face, 'Ms. Farrar, if I may be so audacious, but why had you agreed to accompany me on this walk?'

'Audacity is a trait that I may or may not respect, Mr. Mandrake.' replied Jane calmly, 'I suppose that I accepted your invitation because I wanted to get out of Whitehall as well.' She gave Nathaniel a sidelong glance, 'or would you want me to say that I accepted your invitation due to your resplendent charm?'

Nathaniel's face turned red, but he immediately regained composure, 'I believe that both would be acceptable.' said the young magician with a flippant flick of the wrist, 'Of course I certainly would prefer the latter to the former.'

'Your position has made you quite cocky from when I had first met you John,' said she, her voice huskier than usual, 'I am still deciding whether I find it attractive or not.' She twisted a lock of her gleaming black hair.

'I'd very much prefer the term cocksure Ms. Farrar,' replied Nathaniel with a slight stutter. Apparently he wasn't showing whatever cocksureness he possessed at the moment, 'And I'd like to think that I do have the right to be cocksure, after all, I have worked for everything I have gained,' a burst of insipid passion surged through his mind and exited through his mouth, 'I mean, people everywhere recognize me and they hang onto every word I say!'

'I'm quite sure that you would prefer that term.' she replied evenly, completely aware of the boy's slowly rising aggravation, 'Though how sure are you that your influence does indeed spread so far and wide?'

'Please Ms. Farrar,' scoffed Nathaniel, his better judgment eluding him, 'If I entered a crowded room with a ten gallon hat and spurs on, I could convince everyone that that was the latest fashion, and the day after, everyone would be dressed up as a cowboy! If I told people that lemmings were wonderful pets; everyone would scramble to get one!' Nathaniel knew that he was stretching the truth to a great extent, but his mouth would not stop.

'And why on earth would you want to pull such a trick on everyone?' asked Farrar calmly, an expertly drawn eyebrow cocked up.

'Eh, well,' stuttered the poor boy as he racked his weary mind, 'Of course I wouldn't want to deceive anyone,' Nathaniel began slowly, 'I had just wanted to emphasize to you the extent of my influence to others, though perhaps those examples were not the most appropriate.'

'No, I believe that they bring your point across well enough.'

'Thank you Ms. Farrar.'

A sudden gleam in her green eyes caught Nathaniel off guard. She suddenly stopped walking, and Nathaniel followed the suit with a little gulp, 'Tell me John?' she said, her face dangerously close to Nathaniel's, 'Are you the gambling sort?'

* * *

'That woman is completely insane!' muttered Nathaniel as he entered his townhouse. He let go of all his documents and collapsed onto his bed, moaning into the soft pillows and silken sheets, 'Absolutely bonkers.' Nathaniel's mind was in its usual daze, as he thought about his walk with Jane Farrar. His thoughts were muddled and he was left confused yet again. 

He yelled out an ancient Czech curse (one he picked up from Bartimaeus), but his profanation was muffled by the plush pillows his face was sunken in. In his mind, he replayed his earlier conversation with the cunning witch, every word spoken and every whiff of perfume he inhaled.

'_Tell me John, are you the gambling sort?'_

_Nathaniel let out an inaudible squeak and felt a hot bead of sweat trickling from behind his ear, 'What are you suggesting, Ms. Farrar?' replied Nathaniel, his voice hoarse and wavering._

'_You had just told me that you have quite the influence over everyone,' began Farrar slowly, 'That people would believe every word that came from your rather talkative mouth,' Nathaniel winced at that statement, 'How sure are you?'_

'_I believe that all the service I've done for the government, and with my current position, people certainly wouldn't turn a deaf ear to my words,' scoffed Nathaniel weakly, still trying to impress the girl, 'I'm sure that they've learned not to judge me by my youth.'_

'_Hmm, of course,' replied Farrar in a flatly even voice. She appraised Nathaniel lazily, her chiseled features scrunched in thought, 'Now, back to my question Mandrake, are you the gambling sort?'_

'_If we do return to your question, Ms. Farrar, then we should likewise return to mine,' replied Nathaniel with relative ease, 'What are you suggesting?'_

'_A wager obviously, you silly boy,' a grin broke out in Farrar's face, and she let out a careless laugh, but it made Nathaniel's eyes narrow with slight apprehension, 'It's all in good fun of course, but how eager are you to prove that your influence is indeed ever so powerful?'_

_Nathaniel thought about this for a moment, formulating a clever, confident response to her question, 'Ms. Farrar, I believe that you're well aware that I've gambled with my life on several occasions-' in an instant he winced as those words left his mouth, but before he could interject, Farrar had already._

'_Perfect,' she said simply, 'Now, I'm sure that you've heard of the the Annual Ball the Prime Minister holds?' Not waiting for a reaction, she continued, 'Well, frankly speaking, it's mostly a whole load of tosh, but it's one of the biggest events the magicians celebrate, and it's in six months I believe.'_

'_Go on.'_

'_Well, as in your analogy, you have a room crowded with people, magicians no less, and your undeniable influence,' she said with mocking emphasis. 'Now all you need is your ten gallon hat and lemming, but in this case, your lemming would be a girl. A commoner to be exact,' a malicious grin was spread about her face._

'_But commoners are prohibited from attending the Ball, aren't they? The Prime Minister and all of the officials in Parliament would have a fit if one ever attended as a guest.' Elitism was a trait that ran rampant throughout this society.  
_

'_Ah, I see that they were not joking about your aptitude, John,' said Farrar, 'You know quite well the reaction you'd receive if they knew that your companion was a commoner. So your task in this wager is to make sure that they do not find out. With your resplendent influence,' she said with a sarcastic flourish, 'Let them all believe that your little date is indeed one of them, and if you do accomplish just that, I shall award you with ten thousand pounds for each month you have to prepare for the ball.' she had finished giving her pitch, 'Now what do you say Mandrake?'_

_Nathaniel listened intently to her words, and carefully thought over each factor; weighing the sheer load of a total of sixty thousand pounds in his mind, 'What exactly do you get out of this, Ms. Farrar? I cannot see any way that you would profit from this wager.'_

'_The sure euphoria of seeing you proven wrong is enough of a consolation for me Mandrake.' He felt a slight stab of hurt as she revealed her malicious motives so flippantly.  
_

'_Then how certain am I that you would not rat me out, if I did manage to bring the girl to the ball,' countered Nathaniel, quite peeved at her, 'After all, you would have absolutely nothing to lose if the girl's identity had been uncovered.'_

'_You would have to trust me John,' whispered Farrar in a deathly calm voice, 'Do you trust me?'_

_Nathaniel glanced at her with a skeptic eye, 'I shall consider your offer Ms Farrar,' he said in a curt voice, 'now, shall we head back?'_

_The cheery mood of Westminster was suddenly dampened, as if Nathaniel's mood had been dictating its tone. They walked back in total silence as Jane Farrar smiled, surely pleased with herself, and as Nathaniel's thoughts meshed into a large hurricane beneath his stoic exterior._

'I cannot believe how I handled that damned situation,' muttered Nathaniel after he lifted his face from the flattened pillow. Sitting upright on his bed, he cradled his head in his arms and thought harder about the situation he was in.

Making a few more inaudible noises, Nathaniel walked over to his refrigerator, 'If I decline her wager, then she'd hold it over me for all of eternity,' mumbled Nathaniel as he rummaged for something to eat. Grabbing a carrot with a disturbingly large, black spot, he returned to pacing.

As he nibbled absently on the carrot, he continued to ponder his situation, 'Though if I did accept her wager, she'd most likely find some backhanded way to reveal her character, without actually breaking the conditions of the wager,' Nathaniel paused for a second, 'But what exactly are the conditions of the wager?" Thinking to himself, he cursed inwardly, 'And of course another factor would be the girl! What if she's completely unbearable?' Or what if Jane pays her to ruin me, no, but then her life would be in peril as well, unless she's a bloody basket case who wouldn't bother to care?' Nathaniel was too caught up in his monologue to even think about how strange and paranoid he sounded.

After a few random nibbles, Nathaniel glanced at the carrot and immediately recoiled in shook, 'Bloody carrot!' letting out another moan; Nathaniel could not recover himself from his relentless moping. After throwing the rotting carrot into the trash bin, Nathaniel went back to pondering.

'I wonder how we're going to pick the girl,' murmured Nathaniel quietly as he paced relentlessly across his kitchen floor, 'I would probably have to select one, and she'd decide whether or not the girl would be suitable. Or perhaps she'll just drop a girl at my doorstep, without bothering to ask for my approval? Or perhaps she'll be civil about this and let me pick the girl,' Nathaniel immediately scoffed at the idea as it left his lips.

'And of course, another factor would be the bloody ball,' yelled Nathaniel to himself, 'It wouldn't be a pleasant memory to be chased by the Night Police right after attending my first ball,' said Nathaniel dryly, 'And I would barely information about it, Jane wouldn't be likely to tell me a thing about it, and it would be very unorthodox to ask any of the magicians at Whitehall.' Nathaniel knew only a few things about the Prime Minister's Annual Ball, at the beginning of the event, it was an elegant, yet exuberant celebration, but its later half had a more somber mood to it, according to rumors and careless remarks he heard from elder magicians. And of course, commoners were forbidden to attend as guests.

Still the offer was extremely tempting, 'Sixty thousand pounds,' murmured Nathaniel, and he stopped in his steady stride. It was such a large sum to completely comprehend in his befuddled mind, 'If I did succeed in accomplishing her task, I would be rewarded with sixty thousand pounds,' he recited slowly, repeating it in his mind as if it were some sort of mantra, but reality struck his mind once more, 'But what would keep her from actually paying me, she could still rat me out and reveal the plot to her advantage,' Nathaniel thought for a few moments, and found a way to offset that problem, 'An oath! Yes, I will bind her to an oath!' But then Nathaniel's spirits sank as he realized that she would have to agree to it.

Nathaniel paused for a moment, '_I don't need the money_,' said the indecisive magician, glancing around at his expensive furniture and _exquisite_ taste. '_It all boils down to pride._' Nathaniel winced to himself. He knew that he could handle being embarrassed in front of a crowd of people, past events have proven that he could. But could he handle the humiliation of Jane Farrar's derisive sneer as he told her that he was _too chicken_ to accept her wager?

Jane Farrar was a very tricky subject; the woman had so many layers of mystery and intrigue that Nathaniel could only attempt to look through them and guess her true intentions. Perhaps she had it in for him, and this was some sick trap she had hatched to lead him to his demise? Or perhaps she was speaking honestly to him a while ago, when she said that it was all in "good fun."

Weighing out the pros and cons of the dilemma plaguing his mind, Nathaniel had made his decision. After a few more moments of pondering, Nathaniel left his kitchen and picked up the handset of his phone. He punched a series of numbers and held the handset to his ear. With bated breath, he waited to hear the other end of the line answer as the monotonous ringing sounded in his ear.

'Good Evening, may I ask who is calling?'

'Ms. Farrar, it's John,' Nathaniel gulped silently, 'I've decided to accept your wager...

* * *

Yawn, it's late at night and my writing skills are quite sloppy, I'd imagine. So, sorry for whatever crappiness came your way with the Neurotic Nathaniel and whatnot. Thank you so much for reading all the way though. I hope that they're not too out of character, and please, if they are or are not, tell me in a review. I would really like to hear whether or not it stank, and don't be afraid to nitpick for mistakes, because I know that there' is always room for improvement. Happy reviewing! 


	2. Kitty: Taking One for the Team

Neep, me again... Hmm, I really am so uncreative with my introductions. Bah, screw it. This is just to burn all the space in the world. And considering the fact that I'm on an M & M high, let's burn even more space. Yes, delicious space... I mean, M & M's. Bah, I should just probably constantly shut up, and start doing something productive. Meh, but then again productivity has never actually been one of my strong suits. Bah, happy reading!

Hmm, my mistake in the previous chapter when I stated that there would be only a few original characters, in fact there will be a lot of them, especially in this chappie. Oh well, just don't listen to anything I say anymore for any future reference... But then again, why would you listen to this if I told you to not listen to what I say, even though I hadn't in fact said it, but typed it. Gah, life is a bleedin' paradox.

**Black Skittles**- _(resists urge to go into obsessive compulsive mode and drone on and on about My Fair Lady)_ Meh, well it's basically centers around Henry Higgins, a phonetics professor, he makes a wager with this guy, Colonel Pickering or something, that he can transform a cockney flower girl, Eliza Doolittle into a well bred lady... The story won't be based completely on the original story, I have some twists in mind, but it would help to know some things about it I suppose... Thanks!

**Swordsrock**- Thank you so much for your comments and suggestions. I'm still trying to find a way for Bartimaeus to have a part in the story, but it's becoming a real challenge. And in regards to your critique, I'm really grateful that you took the time to type one up. Although I would have to admit that I had been taught a bit differently in regards to the conjunctions. My teacher had come up with this code for us to remember the coordinating conjunctions and 'but' had been one of them. She had also told us that commas weren't necessary to add with coordinating conjunctions, and though I was used to adding commas, I had to get used to not adding them, since... well, I didn't want to fail... Thank you so much anyway, I really appreciate it!

_**My Pretty Kitty**_

_**Chapter 2**_

_Kitty: Taking one for the Team_

The tightly suited magicians walked off into the direction of Whitehall, oblivious to the fact that one Kurtis McCaroll had been listening into their conversation. Although he was a rather tall boy, he was hardly ever noticed in crowds, which he constantly used to his advantage. The trench coat clad boy waited until they were far away from earshot or eyeshot and in an instant he leapt from a back alley, which was right across from the spot the two had been standing, and ran swiftly and silently through the alleys of Westminster until he reached a specific green door with peeling paint.

Kurt straightened himself out, inhaling deeply as he knocked specific beat. After a few moments, the door opened, but it wasn't opened fully, due to a chain that kept it partially sealed. Another boy peeked out cautiously and said, 'Your ranking?'

'Oh come on Ashcroft,' moaned Kurt, 'Do I really need to?'

'Do you really want to risk having her wrath inflicted upon you,' responded the other boy. Kurt's eyes widened and he nodded immediately, 'Now, I'll ask you again, Kurt, if that if your real name.' said Ashcroft wryly, 'what is your ranking, and its corresponding password?'

Kurt stuck out three fingers, and said in a hushed voice, 'Carpe Diem, you snotty git.'

'Oh lovely,' retorted Ashcroft dryly, unhooking the chain and opening the door, 'I certainly do look to your constant invectives for comfort and solace! They really do help boost up my self-esteem,' glancing at his friend, Ashcroft spoke in a more serious tone. 'You seem a little jittery there, Kurt, anything new?'

'I have some very interesting news for she-who-shall-not-be-named,' replied Kurt, quite pleased with himself as he entered the door, only to find two more doors, 'You'll know soon enough, Noel, but whether or not this piece of information shall be received pleasantly, I cannot tell.'

'Right then,' murmured Noel Ashcroft in response, 'Now, you know that it's customary for me to ask you which door leads to freedom,' muttered Noel lazily, 'but at the risk of sounding monotonous, which door will keep you from having your head hacked off?'

'The right one, you tedious prick,' replied Kurt in increasing exasperation.

'Again with the insults, I see,' muttered Noel, as he fished through one of his many pockets, and pulled out a set of keys, 'Now, which of these keys,' he jangled them for a dramatic effect, 'Will unlock the secrets hidden behind this door?'

Kurt growled loudly and yanked one of the keys on the metal ring. He unhooked it and jammed it into the keyhole of the door. He twisted it easily and the door swung open with an inaudible squeak. A long staircase, dimly lit by only a hanging lamp, went far down, going underneath the surface and at its end was a door, identical to the first one Kurt had faced. Noel held out the same set of keys, and gestured for Kurt to pick one. Kurt growled at him and yanked another key and rammed it into the keyhole. He and Noel burst through the door in a hurry.

They found themselves in a rather large basement, furnished plainly, but congested with various shelves and items. There were eleven other people who stood in the room and all of their eyes were directed towards the two. They beheld the headquarters of the second wave of the Resistance. There were many magical artifacts and a selection of magic books, but they were still struggling in their quest for liberation. So far, their operation had been completely clandestine. They hadn't made an impact large enough to become a real threat to the magicians and the strain was slowly getting to them. 'Well, you two seem to be in a hurry.' a girl with long, dark hair commented.

'Well, you see, Kitty, it seems as though Kurty here has some news he's just been agonizing to share with you!' Kurt glared at Noel for the childish nickname, and swung a fist at him in the gut. Noel doubled up in pain.

'Well the imbecile is correct that I have news to share,' said Kurt after straightening himself up, ignoring his fallen comrade, 'and I believe that we could manipulate this piece of information to our advantage.' He grinned wickedly at his companions.

'It would really help if you'd tell us,' a girl with curly brown hair with thick rimmed spectacles snapped at him. The mood in the room was clearly quite tense and the news of new information would be leapt upon as soon as it had been given.

'I was getting to that Lady,' retorted Kurt, clearly agitated with his companions, 'Anyway, I was at my post, in the back alley next too Larson's Liveries, and after an extremely uneventful morning, afternoon rolled in, and so had two magicians who I'm certain you all know quite well,' Kurt, clearly enjoying the attention he was receiving, paused for dramatic effect, 'John Mandrake and Jane Farrar.'

Kitty glanced at him skeptically, not noticing her hand clench up tightly against the armrest of the chair she was sitting in, 'Are you certain McCaroll?'

'Don't take me as a fool Jones, the tightness of their suits gave me enough of a justification,' scoffed Kurt, 'Now, where was I? Oh yes. So, Mandrake and Farrar had been walking along the road past Ernest's Epaulets and stopped at Larson's and they were having quite an interesting conversation,' Kurt recalled the events carefully, 'I hadn't heard it all, but I had heard a few snippets that included lemmings, balls, and whatnot,' this was received with blank stares, 'But the next part I heard clearly. Farrar had made a wager with Mandrake saying that if he could bring a commoner to some ball in six months and pass her off as a commoner, she would give him ten thousand pounds for each month.' He pretended to count on his fingers, 'So that would be...'

'Sixty thousand pounds!' chimed in Noel, from the floor, who, although he was in pain, wasn't one to pass up a chance to make people laugh or smack him in the head for being irritated.

They ignored him with a practiced silence.

'Hmm, very interesting,' another voice spoke up. It was Peter Henderson. The rather young boy had resilience and he could disarm power from most magical relics, 'we could indeed use this information to our advantage.' And for a young boy, he was very apt.

'Yes, it's the perfect undercover operation,' agreed Asher McCabe, a boy who was able to sense magic in objects, 'One of you girls could be the commoner, and I'm sure that in six months you'd be able to gather enough information that would be critical to our movement.' He spoke calmly to the girls.

'Quite right,' agreed Winston Best, a rather old man who had resilience and quite an extensive knowledge on magic and sorcery, 'Mandrake is one of the most important magicians, and if one of you girls went to stay with him, it would also be possible for you to bring him down.'

The girls all agreed silently, but they were all a bit hesitant to volunteer. Eleanor McKenzie, a girl who could sense magic in objects, glanced at Kurt inquiringly, 'It would be rather risky, wouldn't it? I mean, Mandrake must have some sort of security in his house that would keep us from uncovering anything.'

'True enough, but if he had any decency, there could be some negotiations made,' replied Winston slowly. Kitty snorted as soon as he spoke, but no one had heard her, 'Though I doubt that he would be as stupid as to lie in naivety. I'm sure that he's smart enough to be suspicious of a girl he has no information on.' Kitty snorted again.

'Well, after six months he'll see whether or not he'd be able to trust her I suppose,' said Richard, a rather slow boy, but he had amazing gifts, 'But then again, in this case he wouldn't be able to trust the girl. Whoever we send, she'd need to be a good actor, or actress rather.'

'Eh, yes,' said Jude Marvin, a handsome boy whose intuition was a reliable gift, 'And another concern would be those six months themselves. After six months of Mandrake's tutelage, what if the girl, no offense to all of you ladies, buckles under his influence? I think that it's quite safe to say that Mandrake has proven that he's not to be broken so easily.' Five pairs of eyes glared him.

'Oh please Marvin, give us more credit than that,' rejoined Loretta Shears, a tall blonde with strong resilience, 'As cute as Mandrake may be,' Kitty gagged, but no one paid attention to her, 'he's as rotten and shallow as all the other magicians. He can be broken, especially when pushed to the extreme.'

'But what if he does try something, like brainwash or whatever? I don't think that he'd be above that in order to win a wager,' said Sally Rigby, a pessimistic girl who could faintly see demons in the different planes, 'and another factor to consider would be the ball itself. I know that commoners aren't allowed to attend most social events of magicians, and if they find out that she's actually a commoner, it could be considered as a crime.'

'Point,' agreed Billy Kite, a boy who could reflect magic, 'So, that would mean that whoever we send would actually have to work hard as well, if her life was to be at stake. The girl would probably be taken into confidentiality, and unlike magicians, us commoners honor an agreement,' said Billy dryly. Kitty nodded inwardly.

'But how are we so certain that they don't have a girl already?' countered Lady, her spectacles flashing dangerously.

'Pretty damn certain, Lane,' replied Kurt in an even voice, 'those magicians may work fast, but they don't work that fast.'

'Yeah,' agreed Jude pensively, 'Mandrake would have probably taken time to think it over. Right, Kurt?' Kurt nodded in response, 'Hmm, then he'd probably confirm it with her, and they would probably meet again in front of Larson's tomorrow. That's where we start, I suppose, we plant one of the girls there and try to get them to choose her. But if Farrar already does have a girl, then we'd have to formulate a new plan to sabotage that girl. As cruel as that sounds, it's pretty necessary.'

'Well, I think that we've all learned to trust Jude's intuition,' agreed Peter, who looked up to Jude as role model, 'Though another question comes to mind. What if Mandrake declines this wager?'

'Please Pete;' snorted Lady, 'Mandrake's ego would suffer a hard beating if he declined this wager. And his incentive is no joke either. Any magician, no matter how old or how young would never decline such a prize.'

'You've been awfully quiet in all of this, Kitty,' remarked Noel who recovered from the floor and was now grinning widely, 'It isn't like our resplendent and ever fastidious leader to stay silent in the wake of vital information?'

Kitty glared at him, 'I can see why Kurt likes hitting you all the time Ashcroft,' replied Kitty calmly, 'I'm just... speculating over the situation, so to speak. I was just thinking that this wager does stoop low enough for Mandrake's standards.'

All thirteen of them in the room despised magicians, and although they all had reasons, Kitty kept hers closely guarded. None of her companions knew much of her past, only that she was a member of the original resistance, and on those grounds they appointed her as their leader. But they were unaware of the full extent of her fight with the magicians and her disquieting tangle with John Mandrake.

'Well, then do you approve?' asked Eleanor inquisitively, she had great respect for Kitty, 'It seems like a very good opportunity for our cause, but taking into account the level of risk, it would also be wise to take precaution.'

'I think that this is a chance we should definitely take,' confirmed Kitty, nodding after much deliberation, 'Mandrake is Head of Internal Affairs, a high position with long hours. As suspicious and as paranoid he may be, I really doubt that he would be taking the girl to work. It would rouse too much suspicion with his colleagues. That would be the opportune time to search his house for information.'

'Unless of course he takes extensive security measures in his house,' said Sally, her pessimism in full force.

'I'm sure that one of you will be able to find a way to work around that,' remarked Winston calmly, 'Now the next task that lays before is to select the girl who will risk her identity, and most probably her dignity to undertake this mission.'

Five pairs of eyes widened and darted rapidly from side to side. 'Regarding the previous statement about brainwashing,' began Peter promptly, 'I think that we should send girls who have resilience to magic. If he tries anything, at least she would be immune.' He glanced at his female comrades, 'So that rules out Eleanor and Sally.'

'Thank God,' muttered Sally incoherently. She glanced at Kitty, Lady, and Loretta, 'Good luck to one of you.'

'Gee, thanks Sal,' replied Lady dryly, 'I'm afraid that I'm not really much of an option either. You all know that I'm not good at sneaking around and snooping,' the others all agreed, remembering the number of times their cover had nearly been blown due to Lady's anxiety under pressure.

'So that leaves Kitty and Loretta,' noted Asher, a grin spreading upon his face. The two girls exchanged glances warily, 'Any excuses?'

Kitty racked her brain for any reason to keep her from undertaking the challenge. She didn't them to know about her previous acquaintance with Mandrake. It was a piece of her past that she didn't want to recall in detail and discuss with other people. She searched desperately for an explanation that would leave her secret in the dark but excuse her from receiving the role. 'Loretta does think that Mandrake is cute,' Kitty did all she could to keep from gagging, 'So, this would be an excellent opportunity for her to meet her and hopefully rid herself of that delusion.'

'Ah, but taking that fact into account, since I think that Mandrake is attractive, I may be distracted from searching for clues,' countered Loretta quickly, refusing to go down without a fight, 'And you all know that Kitty is so self-possessed, she wouldn't lose sight of her objective.'

'A very fine point, Lorrie,' remarked Billy. The others nodded to Kitty's chagrin.

'But I'm sure that after you meet him, the magic would die down, and John Mandrake's luster would be replaced by his ugly reality,' replied Kitty hastily, 'After all, in six months, you're sure to see his ugliest side, and after you do, betraying him wouldn't be so hard.'

'A very fine point from Kitty,' Billy remarked once more. A smile formed on Kitty's face as her other companions nodded in agreement.

'Yes, but you are so much more emotionally and mentally fortified than I am. If Mandrake does become suspicious, you'd be a lot better at keeping the secret than I would be. I mean, I don't know what measures he would resort to, in order to pry your secrets out of you, but you've shown that you're extremely difficult to crack.'

'Loretta Shears with two points, Kathleen Jones with one,' said Billy, who seemed to have taken the roll as the commentator, 'Awaiting the rebuttal of Ms. Jones.' He relished in the approving sniggers of his comrades.

Kitty shot him a brief glare before speaking once more, 'Ah, but you are forgetting the fact that any major decision the Resistance makes would have to be approved by me and my better judgment, and considering the fact that this decision is quite major, I would have to approve of it,' Kitty grinned wickedly as she spoke. 'And I don't approve the proposition of sending me to Mandrake, though the proposition of sending you is far more suitable, due to reasons that my better judgment would not like to disclose.'

'Oh come on Kitty! That is not fair!' complained Loretta. She glanced at the nine other people in the room, but she was met with shrugs and blank stairs, 'I can't believe it; you've turned into a power tripping tyrant!'

'Please Lorrie, I'd rather you not comment on my naturally tyrannical nature,' Kitty replied wittily, happy that she had managed to salvage her argument. 'Then it is settled. Loretta shall bee the girl we send to Mandrake,' said Kitty in a final voice. She smiled at Loretta who was slouching sullenly, and patted her back reassuringly. Disregarding this little dispute, the two had usually gotten along quite well, 'Don't worry, Lorrie, you're just taking one for the team.'

* * *

Another fair day had been blessed upon the usually dreary streets of London, but within Loretta's mind, a storm was brewing. She was standing right in front of Larson's Liveries, leaning against a lamppost. Smartly dressed in a worn, but elegant green coat and high boots, her poise was unmatched, but she was groaning inwardly. As much as she believed in her cause, this was an extreme she was not ready to face. 

Kitty was positioned near, because she felt that it was her obligation to compensate for Loretta's loss. Kitty was incognito, as advised by her companions, but she agreed quickly for other reasons. She was tasked to see that everything went according to plan. She would have to eliminate any other possible candidate that Mandrake may select. Although violence was an option, her companions had strongly advised against it, much to Kitty's chagrin.

After a few hours of Kitty scaring away random girls from her post, true enough to Jude's words, Farrar and Mandrake were walking down the road, almost casually. Kitty winced as soon as she had seen Mandrake. His suit seemed to have gotten tighter since she had last seen him. Her attention darting back to Loretta, she watched in suspicion as she saw a man emerge from behind her.

Kitty darted nearer to Loretta in alarm, positioning herself behind a large trash bin. Her eyes widened as soon as she realized who it was. It was Larson. He had emerged from his shop and was chatting animatedly to Loretta. Kitty could only catch bits and pieces of their conversation.

'I've noticed you standing for a while in front of my shop...'

'I was just...'

'I have a proposition for you...'

'I don't know...'

'A beautiful girl such as you...'

Kitty strained her ears, but she could not make out any more of their words. She couldn't do anything without giving away her position and rousing suspicion, but Mandrake and Farrar were drawing closer and closer. Kitty was trapped behind the trash bin. She couldn't rescue Loretta, much less escape without Mandrake or Farrar noticing her. Subconsciously, Kitty pushed back her dark shades and lowered the brim of her hat even more. She prayed fervently that she wouldn't be spotted by Mandrake, but if she was unlucky enough, she hoped that he wouldn't recognize her.

After a moment of rather profane reflection, Kitty glanced back to Loretta's post. She was no longer there, and neither was Larson. Cursing loudly as things spun out of control, she caught a glimpse of Loretta holding out various cloaks, and coats with Larson smiling pleasantly at her. 'Damn that girl!' moaned Kitty as she recalled Loretta's exorbitant fetish for any sort of clothing.

Her head pivoted back to Mandrake and Farrar. They had stopped a few feet from Larson's and were directly in front of Ernest's Epaulets. From what Kitty could see, there was no other person with them, which indicated either that they hadn't chosen a girl yet, or she was carefully tucked away from the world. Kitty couldn't make out their conversation, even though she could see the apprehension riddled in Mandrake's mannerisms.

Kitty debated in her mind ferociously, wondering what she should do. She couldn't make a dash towards Larson's and yank Loretta from her clothes; it would grab too much unwanted attention. She couldn't call for Loretta. They had made a signal which would tell Loretta that Mandrake and Farrar were in the premises, but it was useless now that Loretta was in a heavily guarded shop. Her head darting back and forth from Larson's Liveries and the nearly departing magicians, Kitty's decision remained unfinished, but her recklessness was in full force. She had to stop them from leaving.

'Oh hell...'

An inferno of passion seared through her mind, numbing the confusion she felt. But it was soon replaced by a new wave of perplexity as she bolted from her hiding place and sped into the back of John Mandrake. The two hit the hot pavement with a sickening thud.

'Oh dear!' exclaimed Jane Farrar, who had been spared from the dizzying pain of the rough sidewalk, 'John, have you broken anything?' Her usually collected composure was distorted, in lieu of the events that had taken place.

Mandrake lifted himself up unsteadily, removing himself from underneath Kitty. Farrar had grabbed his arm and assisted him in getting up. He staggered uncertainly, and cradled his face tentatively. Although he wasn't sober, he clearly noticed Kitty who lay in a crumpled heap beneath him, 'Excuse me, Miss?' He was still too dazed to be furious, 'Who are you?'

Kitty's eyes fluttered open, and she found that her hat had flown for her head and her shades were cracked in one of the lenses. Jamming her hat back on and pushing up her shades fiercely, she made a motion to get up, but she fell almost immediately on her bottom. She cursed her clumsiness and the spinning of her mind. She stared numbly at the two magicians who glanced at her in the same answer.

'My colleague had asked you a question,' said Farrar, the only sober one.

Kitty felt her head spinning, but she fought to regain her composure, 'I'm uh... My name is...' She hadn't anticipated the need to come up with an alias, and her mind was too dazed to come up with a plausible one, 'Uh, I have been taught by my parents to refrain from disclosing my name to strangers.' Kitty was surprised that an intelligible string of words escaped her mouth.

Jane Farrar scrutinized her carefully, a perfectly shaped eyebrow cocked up in deliberation. Kitty had regained most of her sense back and she was able to stand up, albeit swaying a lot as she did. She felt worried as she saw how Farrar was staring at her.

Mandrake, who had also regained most of his composure, had a long scrape above his right eyebrow. He was only beginning to comprehend Kitty's actions, but Farrar had pulled him in closely and whispered something in his ear, 'She's a commoner, wouldn't you say? Such a dimwitted contemplation that dribbled from her mouth could only come from a commoner. Not to mention the pure imbecility of running into the back of someone.'

A grin that Kitty could only interpret as sadistic was spread all over Jane Farrar's face.

Kitty felt deeply offended, but she had to play her cards right. She stayed quiet and tried to ignore her splitting headache. She hoped that Mandrake was too disorientated to recognize her.

'What do you say about her? It would be a lot easier to pick her than to go searching through the slums. I mean, we'd probably find her sort there either way' Farrar asked Mandrake, 'She does seem like an obstacle, but I'm sure that you can handle it. She's obviously in some financial trouble, with her dowdy clothes and broken shades, which means that you'd be doing her a favor by taking her in.' she grinned wickedly, 'A great challenge is overcome by a great man and not the other way around.'

Kitty glared angrily from behind her glasses as Farrar appraised her. Although her mind was still in a bit of a muddle, she could still decipher an insult, when thrown at her. Her hands balled into fists, and she did all she could to control her anger and stay balanced at the same time.

Mandrake glanced at her dumbly, his eyebrow twitching erratically. Kitty could tell that he wasn't thinking straight, 'Alright.'

'Perfect!' exclaimed Farrar, she immediately turned towards Kitty, 'Miss, how would you like to be a magician for one night?'

Kitty studied Farrar, a bit more sober than she had been a while ago. She knew that it was all hopeless now. She had fallen into the trap that she had so desperately wanted to avoid. They didn't know that she knew what was going on, and she had to carry on with that charade, as difficult as it would be. And even though it would leave a horrid taste that she would never be able to get rid of, her mouth opened automatically.

'I'd love to.'

* * *

Eek, forgive whatever horridness came your way! I had done the last part in a bit of the hurry. But honestly, this chapter was mostly dialogue, which is probably why it was so long. I hope that nothing seemed to farfetched and everything was alright, but if you spot anything, just let me know... Thanks for taking the time to read! Please review as well! 


	3. Kitty: All the Cards on the Table

I really am horrible with updates... I mean, I do write, but it takes me so long, since I want everything to be perfect, from grammar to spelling to length. So, I'm very sorry to those who have been kept waiting long. I wouldn't blame you if you've given up hope on this fic. But of course, thank you so much if you haven't. So, here's an update I hammered out for a long while. Lot's of dialogue mind you. Please don't forget to review!

Thanks to **x3BrokenSonnetx3** for all the support... Mwah! I'll actually hug you now... Well, it's a virtual hug... But don't tell anyone... cough cough Anyway, thanks a whole lot, for listening to me complain and gripe...

**Kettch-22**- Hah, how ironically coincidental! The day you reviewed is the day I finished my new chappie! Anyway, thanks a lot for waiting! I'm happy that you still stuck with my story! I actually have an idea on how to include Bartimaeus as well and it's somewhat similar to yours. Thanks a lot!

**Swordsrock**- I may be obsessive compulsive, but I think that my laziness can overpower it easily... Thank you so much for your review. It's detailed, critical, but loverly (hint hint) all the same! Thanks for your insight!

**Contrarian**- I think that Jane Farrar is the character we all love to hate, and I'm really trying to exploit that fact to my advantage. Thanks so much for sticking with my story.

Thanks to everyone else... You've all been loverly...

_**My Pretty Kitty**_

_**Chapter 3**_

_Kitty: All the Cards on the Table_

Kitty had been dragged by a driven Jane Farrar, along with a less than sober John Mandrake, to a fancy little bistro that was a few blocks away from Larson's. With a little bit of luck and a whole lot of wanton action, Kitty had managed to salvage their plan. Although she had taken a severe beating, both physically and emotionally, Kitty felt a quiet wave of relief within her. But that feeling was instantly drowned out by the sense of dread that formed a storm in the pit of her stomach.

She sat on a cushioned chair and propped her elbows onto a lacquered table made of imitation wood. Right across from her were Jane Farrar and John Mandrake, who was now holding an ice pack to his face. She had tackled him from the back and he hit the ground face first. Disregarding all the pity she felt for him and his face, she was proud of herself for releasing some of the loathing she harbored for him ever since their last encounter.

As a few sadistic thoughts rampaged through her mind, Kitty smiled widely, not knowing that her grin was quite lopsided, but Jane Farrar was quick to notice. 'Oh dear, you really have your work cut out for you John. This girl, her self presentation is absolutely appalling! I mean, she can't even position her mouth properly when she smiles,' Jane Farrar squinted mockingly, 'or something that resembles a smile, so to speak.'

Kitty's smile immediately dissolved into a deep scowl as she heard the well-dressed magician speak. Restraining herself from a profane outburst that was brewing within her mind, she pushed back her shades even more. Her hat was askew the crack on her shades was more than noticeable. Her hair was tied up in a messy knot that was hidden beneath the hat, but there were a lot of loose tendrils that fell scruffily around her face. Although Jane Farrar may have had a point about her self presentation, Kitty's pride would not have allowed her to admit it.

'Alright, Miss, I do believe that introductions are meant to be made,' said the woman in the tight suit, 'I am Jane Farrar, and this is John Mandrake, Information Minister,' she shot a pointed look directly at Kitty, 'Now that you know who we are, may we ask your name?'

Kitty glanced at Jane Farrar, and noted that she used the term 'we' quite loosely, as John Mandrake was still nursing his scratched face. She immediately snapped from her quizzical assessment of Jane Farrar, and thought hard to think of a plausible alias. Her eyes darting subtly, yet quickly, from side to side as she searched the signs. She spotted 'Linda's Homemade Apple Tarts,' and 'Crazy Carter's Catering Company.'

'Eh, Linda Cart- McCartney!' Her eyes widened as soon as those words left her mouth. 'Of all the bloody names in the world, why that one?' Thank goodness for her shades.

'Linda McCartney?' a voice that could be perceived as masculine cut through, John Mandrake had spoken at last. His voice had a weedy timbre that Kitty couldn't perceive as authoritative or commanding.

It was too late to take it back now. Kitty nodded as calmly as she could, 'Yes, Linda McCartney.'

'Please excuse my brashness, Miss McCartney,' there was a sardonic emphasis he put on her alias, 'but I would just like to know,' he coughed softly before he spoke again, 'would there happen to be a Paul?' inquired Mandrake, his right eyebrow raised up, and the scratch above it followed as well. She could tell that he was suppressing a laugh.

Kitty's eyes narrowed underneath the protection of her sun glasses, 'Yes, my brother.' she replied calmly, her voice was thick with conviction. Mandrake wasn't able to break her before, and this time would be no different. Any signs of panic would only give Mandrake an unwarranted satisfaction of himself.

'I trust that your parents were big fans of the Beatles then,' muttered Mandrake inaudibly, 'now, back to business. Miss McCartney,' he put an unnecessary emphasis on her name, 'As Miss Farrar has already stated as a premise, we are planning to transform you into a wizard for one night,' Mandrake coughed again, 'But any delusions of grandeur or fantasy, I'm quite afraid, shall have to be taken away immediately.'

Kitty tried to look as perplexed and confused as she possibly could. Her face muscles contorted into a look which she hoped could pass off as 'inquisitive.' Leaning slightly forward in her chair, Kitty spoke in an innocent voice, 'What do you mean Mister Mandrake?'

'What he means is that you won't actually become a wizard,' said Farrar, in a frank, yet surprisingly cautious voice. Kitty could barely see Jane Farrar's left eyebrow twitching as she spoke, 'Mister. Mandrake plans to transform your demeanor from middle-class commoner to first-class wizard.' Farrar paused for a dramatic effect, 'You shall be under Mister Mandrake's tutelage for six months, shedding away your uncouth traits and perfecting new mannerisms.'

'So, you mean I'll just be for show?' asked Kitty, her voice a little dryer than she had intended, 'You plan on turning me into something I'm not, and then, what? You're going to parade me in front of your colleagues to show that you can turn a filthy commoner into a respectable, yet ersatz magician?' Kitty hadn't meant for her voice to sound so bitter, yet her spontaneity and loathing for magicians got the better of her. It felt all the more true that magicians were conniving and egotistical fiends who disregarded the feelings of others.

But Jane Farrar had easily expected response coming from a headstrong teenager and replied smoothly, 'Now Miss McCartney, when you state it as unattractively as that, I understand that its appeal decreases to an almost detestable level, but think of the privileges you'll be experiencing! It isn't everyday that a commoner would be dining with influential and affluent wizards. And if we manage to pull it off, you may rise in favor and in rank!' Jane Farrar said it with such compelling conviction that anyone else would have believed her, but Kitty's mind was focused wholly on her mission.

Still, she had a charade to keep up, 'Oh wow! When you put it that way, it sounds so exciting, Miss Farrar,' cooed Kitty, with a syrupy quality she didn't think she would ever be able to manage. Underneath the cover of her shades, her eyes were rolling incessantly. She wondered for a moment if she was coming across as bipolar.

Kitty risked a quick glance at Mandrake, and found him eying her with a stern look on his face. His eyes were clouded; his right eyebrow was cocked up, and his wound was glaring at her. She blanched slightly underneath his intense scrutiny, but she regained whatever composure she lost immediately. Yet deep inside her mind, a thought repeated unremittingly, '_What if he knows? What if he knows?_'

'So, you are willing to help us in our little endeavor?' asked Farrar, snapping Kitty out of his thoughts. Before Kitty had a chance to respond, Farrar whipped out a folder and tossed it gracefully to Kitty. She caught it with surprise. 'That, my dear, is a contract that states all of the conditions within our agreement. Browse through it if you like and tell me if you see anything that doesn't quite suit you. Although most are prerequisite, you may contest to the statements.'

Kitty skimmed through the contract quickly, only getting the gist of each article. She frowned as her eyes fell upon the fifth section of the second article. It stated that she was not allowed to leave Mandrake's side at all times and that she was to be under his constant surveillance. It would certainly conflict with her plans and violate the privacy she needed. 'Excuse me, Miss Farrar?' Kitty asked in her most cautious voice, 'I'm quite afraid that I do not agree with the statement in the fifth section of the second article.'

Farrar glanced at Kitty apathetically, diverting her attention from her manicured nails. She took the folder from Kitty and read it carefully. And in one swift movement, she whipped out a pen from her breast pocket and drew a glaring 'X' on the article. She slashed it out easily. Kitty gaped as she saw the paper tear a bit, but turned back to face Farrar. 'Is there anything else, Miss McCartney?' asked Farrar, returning the folder to Kitty.

She took the folder cautiously and read through what was left of the contract, filtering all thoughts in her mind that found the entire situation ridiculous. She had to oblige them, lest she be subjected to the sharp point of Farrar's pen. Finding another article that she would definitely not comply with, Kitty handed Farrar the folder back. 'I don't think that I will be able to stay confined to Mister Mandrake's house for the whole six months. I have family and they would want to know of my whereabouts, whether sporadically or not.' She was lying expertly to people who thrived on dishonesty.

And apparently her skills had improved. Jane Farrar took the folder and reenacted her previous actions. Kitty risked another quick glance at Mandrake who was slashing things off with his pen at an even quicker rate. '_Magicians must have found new methods of torture..._' She shook her head of the mental images that came with that thought and went back to face Farrar. '_Keep in mind that you probably will have to break the conditions of the contract to accomplish the mission._' Kitty scowled at the voice in her head.

'Are those the only conditions you will not agree to?' Farrar asked pointedly, the pen hanging dangerously in her hand.

Kitty nodded.

'Excellent,' replied Farrar as she yanked the other folder from Mandrake, who glared at her as she did, 'Now, I shall go over the contracts tonight, and I will fix them according to the terms you've set and my better judgment. Afterwards, I shall bring them to you so that you may sign them.' She slid the folders into her bag, a black leather handbag with a large clasp in the center. The clasp was made of a polished metal that formed three triangles, which in turned formed an even larger triangle. 'And until then, I suppose that we could familiarize ourselves with each other!' Kitty thought that she said that a bit too brightly.

Before Kitty could reply, her jaw dropped open. Loretta Shears was standing a few meters away in a simple, but elegant yellow dress that hung just above her knees. She had a lot of bags in her hands and she was signaling for Kitty to come. Kitty recovered from her shock induced stupor, but it was too late, because Farrar and Mandrake turned to see just what she was gaping at.

'Is she a friend of yours?' asked Mandrake, his voice was teeming with eagerness. Kitty could see the veins in his neck clearly as he craned his head towards Loretta for a better view. She had a clear shot for his jugular, but she restrained herself.

Farrar had an even better shot, and Kitty could see that the pen in her hand was quavering unevenly. 'Yes, she's a family friend,' she replied easily. Apparently, it wasn't too hard to trick magicians, 'May I go and talk to her? She was expecting me awhile ago, but then I ran into you two.' Kitty grimaced at the glaring literalness of her statement.

'Yes,' replied Jane Farrar in a deadly even voice. She seemed to be speaking through gritted teeth, 'Go on ahead, and- Wait! You know what? Why not call your colleague over here?' a saccharine smile was plastered upon her ever-changing face, 'We can't risk any sort of leakage, now can we? Not that we don't trust you, my dear Linda!' Clearly, she didn't.

Kitty nodded curtly and waved for Loretta to come over. Kitty was a master of leading a two-sided conversation and she hoped that Loretta would be able to catch on. As Kitty watched her stride towards their table boldly, Kitty was confident that they would be able to keep their act together.

With a smile on her face and shopping bags in hand, Loretta reached across the table and held out a vacant hand to Mandrake, 'How do you do? My name is Cynthia. I'm a friend of...' Kitty mouthed her current alias subtly, since Mandrake and Farrar were both facing Loretta, 'Linda's.'

'Cynthia,' Mandrake tested the name on his insalubrious tongue, with his weedy voice, 'I am John Mandrake, Head of the Department of Internal Affairs.' He stood up and brought her a vacant seat.

Kitty raised an eyebrow, '_What sort of an introduction was that?_' She thought as Jane Farrar introduced herself, '_Is the arse trying to impress her?_' She cackled inwardly, but her laughter was cut short as soon as she realized Loretta's weakness, other than clothing.

Those of the opposite gender.

'Jane, shall we move to another table?' Mandrake asked as he rose from his seat, his voice getting weedier and weedier, 'I'm sure that these two ladies would like their privacy while they chat.'

Farrar glowered at Mandrake subtly, but flashed a beaming smile towards Kitty and Loretta. She followed Mandrake's suit and walked to the nearest table. But before she sat down on the chair Mandrake was holding out for her, Kitty heard her screech in her most contemptuous voice, 'You like blondes!'

Although they were gone, they weren't out of earshot. She still had an act to keep up. Facing Loretta, she spoke in her most mellifluous 'I am quite sorry, Cynthia. I got caught up when I ran into Mister Mandrake and Miss Farrar. Did I keep you waiting long?'

'You needn't worry. I did a bit more shopping than intended.' A look of guilt washed over her face for a transitory moment. The bags in her hand, which she shuffled with cautiously, had Larson's logo printed on them.

Kitty scowled at her, but shook off her irritation and resentment. 'It doesn't matter now, I suppose, because Mister Mandrake is... taking me under his wing, so to speak' It wasn't a lie, but it would keep Mandrake and Farrar settled, while tipping Loretta off, 'I think that I will be living with him for a while.'

'Oh, I see.' Kitty scowled at Loretta's newfound relief. She had been spared from the undesirable task at Kitty's expense and she knew that Loretta was simply ecstatic about it (whether or not she revealed it outwardly), 'Will you be going home to your family?'

She shot a quick glance at Farrar, who undoubtedly, was listening in. Farrar shook her head in response to Loretta's question. 'No, I guess not,' Farrar mouthed something that Kitty could barely make out, so she spoke tentatively, 'but tell them that I will be gone of course.' Apparently her lip reading skills had improved. Farrar nodded eagerly as she craned her neck closer to the table.

'Oh sure,' replied Loretta, the happiness from her face, unwilling to go away. Before she could say something else, a ringing sound came from her pocket, leaving her mouth open. Kitty could identify the tune as Ode to Joy, by Beethoven.

Smacking away the thought of the familiar tune, a new realization took place. '_Since when did Loretta have a cell phone?_' Sure enough, the blonde girl whipped out a cellular phone, though it looked a bit outdated and was surely secondhand.

'Oh dear, Ki- Linda!' she recovered quickly, but was it quickly enough. Kitty shot a quick glance at Mandrake, who was sipping a cup of tea lazily, while subduing a rather vicious Farrar, 'I have to go! I had made a... previous engagement a few moments ago. Don't worry though; I'll be sure to tell your family!' She gave Kitty a quick hug and patted her on the back. Rising from her seat and bidding a crisp goodbye to Mandrake and Farrar, Loretta left the café. Kitty could swear that she was skipping.

At Loretta's departure, Mandrake and Farrar returned to their previous seats and faced Kitty evenly. Though Mandrake seemed to be the more fervent of the two, 'So, her name was Cynthia? What would her surname happen to be?' He was acting like a giddy school girl who salivated copiously over a boy she stalked after and worshipped.

Kitty scowled at him, her mouth twisting into an unpleasant sneer, 'Lennon.'

Realization struck him only a few moments after the dreamy look came upon his sallow face. He returned the scowl even more vehemently. The two were too busy glowering at each other to take in that Farrar was chatting discreetly on her cell phone. As they exchanged looks of contempt, the sudden change in her facial expression went unnoticed.

From her sharp, pointed bearing, a much darker, heavier gravity came upon her sumptuous face. She spoke in hushed tones as Mandrake and Kitty had another heated exchange. 'Miss McCartney, I do believe that you aren't in the position to start scorning me? And even if you aren't mocking me, I wouldn't be surprised if you had another friend pop up who's calling herself Yoko Ono.'

Kitty wasn't proud enough to deny Mandrake's aptitude. She knew that he was cunning, but she knew that she was far smarter. And it wouldn't be smart to give him reason to doubt her identity. Still, she wouldn't let Mandrake win this war of wit and cunning, 'I don't think that she would want me to reveal her last name to you.' replied Kitty as convincingly as she could, 'Most people aren't thrilled about the aspect of being tracked down and stalked, and Cynthia would happen to be one of them.'

Mandrake scoffed at her statement, but it took him a few moments and Kitty did not fail to notice his sudden mind lapse, 'You honestly think that I plan on stalking her?'

'Then why in bloody Hell would you want to know her surname?'

'I had simply noticed that she was quite the fine... specimen,' Kitty could see Mandrake wince at his choice of words, but he recovered almost immediately, 'She clearly carried herself with such grace and poise that I wondered about your association with her,' his voice was teetering between snippiness and nastiness, 'I found it strange that a lady like her would be friends with an... Urchin, such as yourself,' He seemed happy with his choice of words this time.

Kitty's cheeks flushed an unattractive shade of red. She knew that by her appearance, it would appear that she lived on meager sources, and although Farrar had been kind enough to point that out a while ago, Mandrake's frank and direct analysis made her even more furious. Willing for the color to drain out of her face, Kitty knew that she didn't care what Mandrake thought of her. She already had the perfect comeback in mind, but just as her mouth opened Farrar cut in.

'As much as would enjoy seeing how this little scene plays out,' her voice was dry and teeming with sarcasm, 'but I'm afraid that I'll have to dash off right now! I shall see you two tomorrow!'

A look, which resembled concern, appeared upon Mandrake's face and he made a move to stop Farrar before she left, but she was too fast for him. Apparently she already had a car waiting for her, and after the moment she slid into the backseat, the car sped off.

Mandrake's mouth was left agape and Kitty felt it was her duty to remind him of it, 'Are you waiting to see how many flies will fall dead into your mouth?' she asked in her sweetest, most naïve voice.

His mouth snapped back up, but instead of the arrogant comeback Kitty was expecting, he let out a laugh. Whether or not it was genuine, he was laughing. It was a low, raspy, almost cynical sounding snicker. Kitty suddenly felt tense at his sudden change of demeanor.

'Why are you laughing?' her voice came out a little more childishly than she wanted.

'It's nothing really,' he replied wryly, calculatingly, 'you just remind me of someone I had met a long time ago, a girl.' Kitty wondered fitfully for a moment if he was talking about her. 'She was quite the loose cannon, if I remember correctly. Headstrong, reckless, and stupidly determined, but you are much better than that, of course.' His voice was profusely spewing sarcasm. Kitty's eyes narrowed as he spoke, 'But I can't really seem to picture her in my mind. She had a horrendously forgettable face, but I do remember that she was rather homely, short too. And she was a lot plumper than you as well,' He had a small smile on his face as he dredged up whatever memories he had, 'A lot!'

Kitty gripped her seat tightly and did all she could to keep herself from lodging a nearby fork up his nostrils. The feral, and passionate part in her mind was fuming, 'T_hat arrogant arse! I saved his bloody life twice and that's how he remembers me?_' But the hopeful side of her mind came calmly afterwards, '_Wait, maybe he isn't talking about me? Maybe there's some other poor girl who he'd met?_'

'Her name was somewhat feline, like Kat or Kitty?' Mandrake was no longer looking at her, he was staring up at the sky, musing.

Kitty's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets (thank God for her shades). Was he just toying with her? Did he already know? Or was he just telling her this for the sake of conversation? A newfound fear had settled into the pit of her stomach. Magicians were notorious for their skills of manipulation and cunning, and Mandrake was sure to be no exception. She would have to act indifferent to his implications, but interested in his statements. She couldn't give up her mission.

'Oh I see,' Kitty managed to say, 'What happened to her, then?'

Mandrake still wasn't looking directly at her. His gaze didn't seem to be fixated on anything in particular, but his voice was even when he spoke, 'Ah, well. She died, simply put.' He shrugged the matter of as if it was of little importance.

Kitty's brow furrowed in confusion. Mandrake thought that she was dead? Interesting angle. There was a lot more to play with now, but she still had to stay two steps ahead of Mandrake. She wouldn't let that arse of a magician trick her into revealing the truth. She had the hopes of the Resistance riding upon her. And an even bigger incentive was proving that Mandrake wasn't as clever as his bravado told him.

'Oh, I'm sorry.' It seemed like the appropriate response, but when she listened to her own words it felt stupid.

He shrugged again, 'Eh, it was for the greater good I suppose.' He was so flippant that it annoyed Kitty again.

Did this mean that he saw Kitty as a threat? And if he did, was it a good thing or a bad thing? If he did see her as a threat, it would give her a good enough reason to gloat and feel superior, but it would be catastrophic for her mission if he found out who she really was. If he knew that she was indeed the threatening Kitty Jones, he would probably take even better safety measures.

Kitty was once again cut before she could say anything by a loud honking sound. She turned around and found a car beeping madly at them. Mandrake didn't seem to be too fazed though. 'Ah, there's our ride,' He didn't fail to notice Kitty's slight confusion over the maniacal driver, 'That would be Lenny, my chauffeur. He doesn't enjoy it when his daily schedule is disrupted.' He threw a few bills on the table and got up. He began to walk towards the car, but he noticed that Kitty was still sitting, 'Get up, Miss McCartney. The longer you stay seated, the more aggravated my chauffeur gets.'

* * *

Disregarding the cheeky (or as Mandrake said, 'inappropriate') remarks Mandrake's chauffeur made about Kitty's sudden presence, the car ride was spent in silence. Mandrake was left to his own musings and Kitty was wallowing in silent self-pity and repressed anger. 

Detaching herself from morbid thoughts of John Mandrake and a blunt set of silverware, Kitty fingered her shades and found that one of the lenses was on the verge of popping out. The crack wasn't getting any smaller and the pressure was sure to be building up. Scowling to herself, she fished through the side pockets of her large, black overcoat to search for the case of her sunglasses. Feeling cool, hard plastic on her fingertips, she retrieved the case from her pocket. However, it wasn't the casing of her shades.

It was a lot smaller and thinner. The kidney shaped case was colored a sallow looking white and was as long as her forefinger. Kitty had never seen this thing before. Her overcoat was always cleared and cleaned each time she went out, so that nothing important could fall out and be lost. As she puzzled over the white case, she cast a sidelong glance at Mandrake to make sure that his attention was not directed at her. He was busy shuffling though his satchel and reading documents. After confirming for sure that he was far away in his own sick thoughts, Kitty ventured to open the tiny case.

With a faint, yet audible click, it opened, and Kitty understood immediately.

It was Loretta. Beneath all of the fake (as Kitty constantly accused), blonde locks of hair, a brain was actually functioning quite well. Disregarding all stereotypes, Loretta hadn't been the one known for her bursts of sudden genius, but this was a pleasant surprise.

In the kidney shaped case was a pair of green contact lenses.

Eventually, she would have to take off her shades, and Mandrake (as dense as Kitty wanted to believe he was) would be able to figure out her identity, whether or not through the obvious familiarity or through extensive research. And though it didn't seem as though it would make that much of a difference, Kitty knew that any help she had, she needed. The cards she could play were very limited, and she had to play them really well. If she could change the color of her eyes, it would buy her more time.

And hopefully more time meant six months.

Quickly sliding the case into her breast pocket, Kitty regained her casual composure and shot an intimidating glance towards Mandrake. His attention was diverted for a moment, and he returned lazily. It was either that he was hardly worried about the entire situation or that he was a very good actor. Kitty was certain that it was the latter. There was something hidden beneath that calm, yet so pathetically puny stature of John Mandrake.

She had spent an hour in his company, and quickly discovered that it had been an hour too long.

The catastrophic events from earlier in the morning were replaying themselves in her head. She couldn't blame Loretta. She couldn't blame Larson. She could blame Farrar, but all the logic in her mind pinned the blame on John 'The Bloody Arse' Mandrake, him and his stupid bravado. Kitty was certain that it had been the defining factor which formed the scenario she was experiencing right now. Farrar may have suggested the bet, but Mandrake had given into his pride and his pomp. And ultimately, she hoped that it would destroy him, but a sinking feeling in her stomach told her that if he went down, she'd be tumbling after him.

* * *

You have no idea how many time I had to change the chapter title. Being as obsessive compulsive as I am, I wanted it perfect, and though 'true perfection has to be imperfect' I was obsessing really badly. Bah, anyway, at least it's over now. I hope that it was sufficient for your standards! And please, don't forget to review! It's what keeps me going, honestly. And if it isn't too much trouble, please check out my other fic, entitled **The Phantom's Mask**... Thanks for everything, and please... Review! 

**Please take note: I've been having a lot of difficulty with updating, I'm sure you've all noticed. I've been finishing my chapters, but I can't see to upload them. It always says that there's no data and whatnot... Is there anyone else who's been having this problem? If so, please feel to tell me how you've remedied it... I'm going insane, I tell you...**


	4. Nathaniel: Like your Dead Girlfriend

I don't know why I wrote this chapter. I think it was to humor myself. Anyway, there are probably a lot of mistakes, but, you see, we're leaving for this trip around Europe tomorrow and I just finished it today. So, whatever corrections will have to wait until my trip is over, which will be on the 27th. Well, I'm glad I finished a chapter, but I'm not necessarily happy about its quality, particularly the last part. Mhm, anyway, I'd love to hear your feedback, which of course can only be heard through the form of a lovely, constructive review. Really, those are the best kinds. Thanks for reading, heck, for even clicking. Any typos shall be fixed in due time, seeing as how I'm particularly obsessive compulsive about that sort of thing. Again, please review!

Ignore or embrace the references. But I would love to hear it if you understood or 'got' one. Haha, that's just me though. Still, please don't forget to review!

_**My Pretty Kitty**_

_**Chapter Four**_

_Nathaniel: Like your Dead Girlfriend_

Nathaniel rubbed his temples in an obvious display of consternation as the ride to his townhouse went on. Lenny had just made an incalculable number of remarks and suggestions about Linda, which was far too many for a married man to make. The girl had acknowledged Lenny with a casual indifference, and Nathaniel decided to leave her to her own devices. He had a lot of new things to wonder and question about.

'_Why did Jane choose this girl?_' He avoided scrutinizing her too closely, instead he stared at her from the corner of his eye, '_She isn't hopelessly plain looking; I can't really see much of a challenge in transforming her._' While he continued to speculate Jane Farrar's ulterior motives, he continued to observe the girl with his peripheral vision, '_She does remind me of Kitty though_' He remembered the remarks he had made about the deceased girl just minutes before, '_But that would be impossible..._' After a few moments of guessing, he decided to just ask her, 'Have we ever crossed paths before? You look familiar.'

'Like your dead girlfriend?' she answered wryly, almost scathingly to Nathaniel's surprise. He glanced at her in very well concealed shock, but in his mind, he was reeling. As if she could sense his apprehension, she quickly added, 'You did mention her a while ago, right? Kat was it? Or Kitty?'

He made no reply, but continued to regard her closely. He had mentioned Kitty indeed, and it shouldn't have surprised him that she remembered, but Nathaniel was still pondering about this girl, and why she seemed to be so significant. Nathaniel observed her intimately to see any distinguishing characteristics. He saw something that may have resembled a wince, but it may have been due to the pothole Lenny had just run over.

'Sorry!' the inestimably happy chauffeur called to them from his seat as he continued to speed along the road, much to the chagrin of an elderly pedestrian (who certainly wasn't elderly enough to shoot him an indecent gesture and curse him in three different languages).

Nathaniel muttered an inaudible 'no problem,' and continued to muse about the girl. Now, he did not bother to hide that he was examining her. He propped his head on his arm, which was rested on the car door and just scrutinized her silently, impassively. She seemed to be aware of the appraisal and Nathaniel noticed her squirm in her seat; her fists were balled so tightly that they were turning white.

The car soon pulled to a stop in front of Nathaniel's townhouse and Linda immediately sprang out from the door. Frowning, Nathaniel was about to reprimand her for such unladylike behavior, 'Miss McCartney, when you are being driven—'

But he was immediately cut short as the door he was resting on was flung open, and on his back, on the warm pavement, he lay, staring straight up at Lenny Morris. 'Lenny!' he exclaimed angrily amidst the chauffeur's apologetic giggles and Linda's very loud snickers.

'Very sorry, Mister Mandrake!' Lenny exclaimed, but it was quiet clear that he enjoyed his boss' embarrassment and Linda's attention.

Nathaniel would not lose his composure, he was too well-groomed to. He stood up and brushed any dirt that may have clung to his suit. Calmly and superiorly, he faced the two who were, by now, giggling together, 'As I had been saying, Miss McCartney, when you are being driven, it is not proper for a lady to open the door herself and jump out of the car. You must wait for either your chauffeur or your escort to do so.' Linda promptly stopped laughing, 'And Lenny, for God's sake! You're a married man and probably fifteen years her senior!'

He turned on his heel and headed for his door, but before he went inside his townhouse he faced them both once more, and shot them withering glances, 'I expect both of you to exercise a certain degree of professionalism!'

And he finished his tirade with a slam of the door.

Linda shot Lenny an impish glance, 'Is he always this uptight?'

After he made his angry exit (which was really an entrance, if you think about it), Nathaniel immediately headed towards the bathroom. He had been dying to wash his face after its unfortunate make out session with the sidewalk. He grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and a few swabs of cotton to clean any small cuts he may have. After a good half hour in the restroom, Nathaniel went to the drawing room to find Linda sitting quietly, disinterestedly on his floral futon, drumming her fingers on its padded armrest. She looked up at him with a strange, yet amused look on her face.

Nathaniel flushed self-consciously, thinking of how absurd he must look. He had pulled his long hair back into a messy knot, so that he could clean the small cuts on his face more efficiently and he had left it like that, so that the cuts would stay clean.

'Interesting look Mandrake,' she said dryly, 'But really, you just don't have the proper bone structure to pull it off. You'd look much better if you'd just shave your entire head!' She meant to do a mocking imitation of Jane Farrar, exaggerating her posh accent to a ludicrous extent.

Nathaniel glared at her, 'I believe that _I _am supposed to be the one to make assessments and transformations.'

'Ah, but one cannot help but notice,' she spoke with incredible cheek, 'your sense of style, or lack thereof. I mean, honestly, how on earth do you breath within that straightjacket you call a suit?'

'Miss McCartney, please, if you truly wish to talk about style, then please explain your battered fedora, cracked shades, filthy hair, and oversized shirt,' replied Nathaniel, but he was nastier than he was cheeky.

Her cheeks turned an unattractive shade of red, which was more likely due to anger or indignation, rather that embarrassment. She seemed to be holding a very large breath for a very long time, until she finally released it. 'Just you wait for a damned second, John Mandrake—'

Before she could threaten him with any form of bodily harm or paint him a very graphic picture about the Head of Internal Affairs being stabbed repeatedly with blunt silverware while a tricky butter knife was embedded between his eyes, a polka dotted rubber duckling appeared right in front of her face with a squishy pop.

'Meesh Macurtnee?' squeaked the rubber ducky, but its synthetic lips did not move. Instead, the sound came from the little hole at its bottom, where its squeak was supposed to come from, 'Meeshter Mandreek teellsh ush too dwaw a baddh ansh shat yoo ish too takesh eet.'

'Simpson, my imp," interjected Nathaniel, embarrassed about his charge's speech impediment, 'He said that you need to take a bath.' Nathaniel couldn't control all of the nastiness that this girl seemed to bring out in him.

'No shir, ish Sheempshon!' the small creature objected squeakily, 'Ansh Sheempshon noth theenk shat Meesh Macurtnee neesh too takesh dha baddh. Sheempshon theenk Meesh Macurtnee eesh deeshenth shmeelleeng.'

Linda look vaguely amused at the little ducky, but it did not stop her from shooting a contemptuous glare at Nathaniel, 'Thank you very much, Sheempshon.'

Nathaniel rolled his eyes as the strange girl continued to humor the imp. Simpson was a useful cook, but entertaining respectable guests was hardly his forte. But to call Linda McCartney a respectable guess would be very much of an overstatement.

'Eesh no frobleem, Mees Macurtnee,' reassured the imp, 'Bath yoo masht takesh dha baddh! Meeshter Mandreek shargees Sheempshon too makesh yoo takesh eet. Eef Meesh Macurtney doshen't takesh dha baddh, dheen Sheempshon noth doo Sheempshon's meeshon! Dheen Sheempson weell bee puneeshed weeth Shteepples!'

Whether or not Linda understood a word that came out of the rubber ducky, she seemed to be quite taken with the imp, and Simpson seemed to warm up to her as well. Nathaniel just stood by, willing himself not to say anything. Instead he contented himself to watching this ridiculous display.

Simpson seemed to be on the edge of a nervous breakdown, as strange as it was, seeing as how he was in the form of a polka dotted rubber duckling. But the rapid squeaking and swirling of polka dots pointed in that direction.

'Alright, alright,' Linda said soothingly, in an attempt to placate the imp. Nathaniel glared at her indignantly, '_Why can't she be as compromising with me?'_ She petted the floating duck, which looked humorously absurd from where Nathaniel stood, 'I'll take the bath, but just for you, Sheempshon, and not for nashty Meeshter Mandreek.'

'Veeree goodh, Meesh Macurtnee,' the duck's squeaky happy tone, was soon replaced by a squeaky cautious tone, 'Bath doo noth shay dhat too Meeshter Mandreek. Hee mighth shteeple Sheemshon and Meesh Macurtney!'

The imp seemed to be oblivious to his master who was only a few feet away. Nathaniel raised an eyebrow at his imp's behavior, but decided against admonishing him for it. Simpson had gotten Linda to take the bath, because she seemed to be so taken by him and if Nathaniel reprimanded his behavior, he was sure to get an earful. He rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide his distaste for the situation, '_Excellent. Lenny and Simpson are both shmeetten—I mean smitten with her. Let's hope that the rest of London will like her as much,_' He also couldn't hide his distaste for the girl, '_Just because I can't stand her doesn't mean I can't win this bet._'

She let out a laugh; it sounded unrestrained and honest, 'I'm not afraid of Meeshter Mandreek! Worry not, Sheempshon, I'll protect you.'

'Veeree goodh, Meesh Macurtnee!' And with that the rubber ducky began floating through the air, in the direction of the upstairs bathroom, escorting Linda McCartney who seemed to be too amused to even acknowledge Nathaniel's presence.

As soon as they had ascended the staircase, Nathaniel collapsed onto the futon Linda had previously been sitting on. He groaned loudly, without a care of who may here, and rubbed his temples in consternation.

'_Six months... of this!'_

After Linda had taken a bath, Simpson had given her a white dressing gown which she wore when she came to meet Nathaniel back at the living room.

Nathaniel changed too, into a sensible shirt and a sensible pair of trousers, but he was looking very uncomfortable in them. He was sitting properly upon his armchair, with his left ankle resting on his right knee, and his arms lying atop the armrest calmly. The moment Linda arrived in the living room, Nathaniel, ever the reluctant gentleman, stood up respectfully.

'Miss McCartney, I pray that the bath was to your liking,' remarked Nathaniel, knowing full well that Simpson was obsessive about menial things such as furniture arranging and bath drawing. He probably blew of their bath salts and gels on that one bath just to impress that girl, especially since he seemed particularly fond of her.

Looking more placid than he had ever seen her, Linda seemed to be floating, 'That was lovely,' her airy voice and absentminded smile was an answer enough.

'Right,' coughed Nathaniel, finding this detached in her very unusual and unnerving, 'Now, down to business. If you will, Miss McCartney, please step on the platform,' he gestured to a makeshift platform that was settled where his coffee table used to be, 'And extend your arms to your sides.' And he promptly gave a demonstration.

Seeing as how the bath seemed to have induced a pliant (yet welcomed) stupor upon the strange girl, she complied silently, although he could sense through her swaying movements that there may have been some subtle form of mockery in them.

'Well?' she said, arms and eyebrows raised.

'Benji,' he called abruptly, and with an audible 'poof,' another spirit materialized in the room, 'Here is Miss Linda McCartney, if you would be so kind as to exercise your... talents upon her, it would be most useful.'

Benji was yet another imp. Nathaniel had summoned him after he decided that he was to accept Jane's wager. Benji was, if you will, a 'stylist,' not to the stars, but to historical figures instead... But Benji was not one to name drop; he was one to nitpick, comment backhandedly, and insult directly and indirectly. Although his voice never rose above the same tone, you could always pick up the scorn that was full in his voice. His current form wasn't quite as arbitrary as Simpson's, instead, he was a portly midget who wore an incandescently yellow tuxedo and had a giant nose which covered most of his face. Nathaniel thought this form to be very fitting of him.

'Right away, Sir.' From his bright yellow pocket, he whipped out a measuring tape and a notepad; a pen was dangling precariously on his ear.

Immediately he began to appraise, measure, and size her up.

'Too skinny,' was the first thing he said before he even had the chance to asses her up close, Nathaniel agreed silently. She didn't look malnourished, but she certainly looked a quite underfed.

'Tall, but too gangly,' the imp said in the same monotonous voice. Nathaniel silently thanked Jane that she hadn't picked a girl who was taller than him.

'Flat.' Nathaniel set his lips into a flat, straight line and ignored the look of contempt that was now flashing on Linda's eyes.

'Good complexion, compared to _some_.' The young magician scowled as he realized this was a jab at him. In the short span that he had charged Benji, the imp never failed to note his sallow complexion.

'Bad posture.' Subconsciously, Nathaniel straightened his back as well. '_Stupid imp_.' he thought in the back of his mind.

'Nice teeth.' Nathaniel wasn't as lucky; he had a few crooked teeth here and there, but that had soon been fixed.

'Big hands, big feet.' He glanced self-consciously at his own hands and feet, and nodded contentedly realizing that they were of normal size.

'Lovely hair color, but I hate the texture.' He discreetly fingered his own hair for a moment, and frowned a little realizing how oily and floppy it was. Benji had commented once that it "Had no body." Whatever that meant.

'In dire need of a manicure,' Benji paused and looked down, 'And a pedicure.' Nathaniel wondered for a moment how different a manicure and a pedicure would be from a regular nail clipping.

'You have this annoying habit of playing with your fingers.' Nathaniel suppressed a snigger.

'Stop being so restless!' She was squirming noticeably and her foot was tapping an irregular rhythm.

'A pretty enough face, but you have ghastly eye bags.' Nathaniel was very glad that he wasn't making any eye contact. The girl must be completely livid by now.

'Eye rolling will not be tolerated.' Benji was clearly enjoying himself, at the expense of Linda. Nathaniel was also quietly amused by the current scenario. He could only predict how this was going to end.

'Neither will nostril flaring,' Benji paused again, 'speaking of which, your nose, ears, and mouth need a clean and a clip.' '_How on earth do you clip nostril hairs?_' Nathaniel wondered subconsciously, fashioning a deadly instrument in his mind that would sooner hack of your nose than the hairs that lay within.

'Unable to crack a decent smile.' '_Jane has a lovely smile_,' the thought slipped unwarrantedly through his mind, and he mentally slapped himself. Chancing a glance at the girl, he did notice how her mouth seemed to be crossed between a forced smile and an unrestrained sneer.

'Facial features seemed to be fixed into a permanent glare.' And they were.

'You really would be so much easier on the eyes if you learned to lighten up, Miss.' Nathaniel squinted at her, trying to grasp Benji's point. She wasn't a complete hag, but would she be able to contend with the powdered, plucked, and primped ladies of high society?

'Interesting eye color.' Nathaniel leaned in closely to examine her eyes. From the moment he'd known her, she was wearing a pair of ridiculous sunglasses. Now that they were off he agreed with Benji, '_A most peculiar color indeed._' Linda saw him bending towards her and she gave him yet another nasty look. '_She never seems to run out of those_,' thought Nathaniel sourly.

'Perhaps a shaving or a waxing would be in—'

Benji was unable to complete his critique, as Linda threw her right fist at him. It connected solidly with his nose, and an unmistakable 'crack' emitted from the contact. As soon as Linda's fist retracted, a steady stream of blood began pouring out of his nose like a faucet (only hairy and filled with mucus).

'Oh dear!' cried Benji, as his hands (which were covered by starch white gloves) flew to face... nose. He tried, in vain, to plug up his nostrils, but his hands were too small and his nose was too large, 'I'm getting it all on the carpet!' And he was, the once pristine carpet now had a large red pool in its center, 'Excuse me Sir,' he bowed respectfully towards Nathaniel. His level of decorum was surprising, given the circumstances, 'And... you.' He meant to give Linda a look of disdain, but it was hidden by his gigantic schnozzle. With an undignified plop, Benji vanished, but the smell of blood and a pricey musk still hung in the room.

Nathaniel turned on her in an instant, 'Was it really necessary to punch him?' The blood on the carpet was already being removed by Simpson, but Nathaniel was still in shock. And it was only fueled once he saw Linda. She looked like she was happy and proud of what she had done.

'Why don't you try being insulted over and over again by a giant schnoz?' replied the girl fiercely. She had yet to descend the platform, but her hands lay menacingly on her hips, 'How on earth does he see?'

Nathaniel shrugged at her second question. The thought did cross his mind more than once, but he was still furious with her, 'You have to learn how to be cooperative! If you think that Benji was harsh, wait till you meet the rest of the world!'

'He was insulting me!'

'So will the ladies you'll be forced to make friends and have tea with! The only significant differences are that they will be doing it behind your back and their intentions won't be as benign!' Never had his voice risen to such a volume as he stepped up on the platform and towered over the girl menacingly.

Instantly, her demeanor switched from haughty to what Nathaniel thought would be a hint of fear. It wasn't obvious, because girl held his gaze evenly, but he could tell that from the back of her mind, she was rethinking her position.

'Well, I- I'm... I—you're a sleazy, pretentious, overbearing git and your suit is too tight!' She had lost and she knew it. They both knew it, as Nathaniel raised his eyebrows in a subtle, yet mocking sign of victory. But Linda wouldn't give up, 'And your hair is greasier than humanly acceptable! If I so much as light a match within a yard of you, we'd die in a blazing inferno!'

She winced at the amount of nonsensical garbage that had just spilled from her mouth.

Nathaniel, on the other hand, was beaming at her superiorly, 'How immature of you, Miss McCartney.' He admonished her condescendingly, 'If you were to insult me, blows beneath the belt are less effective than, let's say, a blow upon my family that would send me crumbling to my knees. Heck, I may even run away weeping.' The sarcasm in his voice was toxic, 'That sort of sloppiness won't do in the real world. You'll need a sharp tongue to survive.'

She regarded him warily. She seemed to be getting tired of this back and forth battle that they'd been having, especially after having her self-esteem chewed out by a large schnoz. 'Your mother was a whore.' She said plainly, knowing full well how this episode was going to end.

Nathaniel frowned inside, '_It's hardly any fun if she doesn't try_.' But he might as well have what little fun he could.

'It is possible.' He replied with a flippancy that was completely inappropriate, 'Having never met my mother, for all I know she could have been crack addicted prostitute or a dean of medicine. Anything is possible.' He looked at her with bored amusement, 'I lied about that bit about insulting my family,' '_Seeing_ _as how I've never actually had a proper one_,' he thought in his mind with a grim humor.

She looked upon him with an unconcealed horror, 'You are a horrible person.'

She was right. It was a horrible thing to say, but Nathaniel knew that he hadn't meant what he said. The only difference was that she did. Long ago, he had convinced himself that what he thought and felt superceded all that he said, so he had no problems lying bold facedly to this poor girl. 'I suppose, but your choice of insult intrigues me,' Nathaniel was lying through his teeth, but he decided long ago that the end justifies the means, 'Perhaps your mother had her own addictions, her own vices.'

He saw her flinch very subtly, but her unsettled demeanor was hidden beneath a rugged, raised eyebrow.

'No, not an addiction,' He was pulling out all sorts of bull, but he wanted to project the illusion that he was excellent at reading people. When in reality, he knew that he wasn't. 'Perhaps you and she never saw eye to eye. Perhaps she loved your brother more than she loved you. Perhaps, judging by your pathetic state, she threw you out of your own home, after realizing that you were nothing more than a truant; a loud and noisy hooligan that she had wasted all of her nurturing years on.'

Nathaniel may have regretted half of the things he said, but he was on a roll.

Linda stared at him, her mouth clenched tightly so that it may not fall agape. She gave him the coldest look she could before saying in an even icier tone, 'You are despicable.'

'_Are those tears?_' Nathaniel thought, a bit of alarm rising through him. All of the things he had been pure guesswork. He hadn't meant to strike a nerve. He only expected to rile her up, so that she would fight back even harder. And now, she was crying?

But he could not alter his stance.

She pushed past him angrily, hiding her face from him and stormed away, but he could hear a very distinct, yet quiet, "Just you wait, John Mandrake."

'Miss McCartney,' his voice betrayed no emotion as he called to her. She turned back as dignified as she could, and though her cheeks were dry, he could see her eyes shining.

'What?' the girl replied. Her voice did not crack, but there was a weariness there that Nathaniel had never noticed.

'That is why you need a sharp tongue.'

And he walked past her, bumping into her shoulder as he exited the room.

'You were such an arse.'

'I know, Menta, I know,' replied Nathaniel exasperatedly as he finished his report on the recent bust on smugglers whose base was located in St. James Street. The press had incorrectly dubbed the arrest as "Piccadilly Pirates Persecuted." He finished scribbling down his linear signature and prepared for a lecture that was soon to come from his too empathic and too touchy feely djinni, Menta Deshayes.

Menta Deshayes was a continental djinni. She was four millennia old and she was a djinni of the fourth level. The majority of her masters originated from France, but there was an occasional Italian or English magician who summoned for her, and once, a shaman from the Caribbean enlisted her services. One of her most notable masters, or mistresses rather, was Catherine Monvoisin, or, as history knew her, La Voisin. The French sorceress had summoned Menta when she was just beginning to study witchcraft and the djinni had faithfully served her master (discovering new poisons and procuring _fresh ingredients_) from the "black masses" to the Poison Affair, until La Voisin's execution. La Voisin had been uncommonly fond of Menta and gave her the name 'Deshayes,' which was her maiden name. Another master of Menta's worth mentioning would be Girolamo Savonarola (who lived a few centuries before La Voisin did), a priest who ruled Florence for a brief time. Menta had been summoned after the Medici Family had been overthrown and before Savonarola had ascended to power. Although practicing any form of magic was against his religion, Savonarola, in a rare act of pure hypocrisy, summoned Menta so that he could secure his power. He put her in charge of organizing the Bonfire of Vanities. She directed the boys who were collecting the items to be burnt from the various households, tipping them off as to which houses held what sort of objects that Savonarola considered immoral and blasphemous.

While Bartimaeus had slaved over buildings, and fought wars that were irrelevant to him, Menta had a relatively easier, albeit less honorable existence.

She was currently in her favorite form, a high class woman from 19th century France. She wore a cream colored dress that had an innumerable number of trimmings. It was a walking dress that had a tiered and ruffled back skirt. The underskirt had pleats and frills. Most of her hair was hidden underneath a bonnet except for a number of small curls that fell at the sides of her heads and a puffy fringe that covered her forehead. The lead based makeup on her face was certainly poisonous, but as a djinni it mattered little to her. She looked very much like a refined, noble born lady except for her teeth, hands, and feet. Her teeth curled outwards, protruding hideously from her large mouth. In the place of her hands and feet were spindly roots that she had full mobility of, but Nathaniel still found it unnerving whenever he looked at her.

'What did you expect me to do? Coddle her? The girl is a nuisance, and she should expect to be treated that way,' Nathaniel added, seeing as how Menta had kept her mouth shut (which was a difficult enough task for her, literally).

'I expect you to be civil to her,' she replied curtly. Her deformity didn't impede her speaking capabilities, 'She will be in your house for a long time, and you will make no progress with her if you continue to "treat her as a nuisance."' She had been perched atop the bookcase in Nathaniel's study, but she slithered across and settled into a plush armchair. She muttered a very indiscreet "wanker," but Nathaniel heard it anyway.

Ever since her first English master summoned her centuries ago, she had become fond of English slang. She took it upon herself to learn as many words as possible and use them whenever she could. Nathaniel found that she abused this privilege.

'How can I be civil when she isn't civil herself?' he asked, irritated at the "holier-than-thou" attitude his djinni had taken. He wondered for a moment why a demonic entity was reprimanding him for his manners and etiquette.

'Take the moral highroad and then you can easily pretend to be better than her without being as arrogant as you really are,' replied the djinni in a matter-of-fact voice that Nathaniel took as condescension.

'I am better than her.'

'Right, John, of course you are,' was the ready reply.

'_Why do I subject myself to snarky djinn? Maybe I should just summon a dull, bland Afrit?_' he mused to himself after Menta's sarcastic answer. It was an unforeseen hindrance that all the ancient tomes failed to state the sense of humor of each entity.

'I bet she's a wonderful girl though,' she added innocently. Nathaniel glanced at her speculatively, well aware of Menta's inclination obfuscate whatever she meant whenever she spoke to him.

'You haven't even met her yet,' mumbled Nathaniel as he rubbed his temples. He felt an oncoming migraine.

'But seeing as how enamored you are of her, how could I possibly not like her?' She answered in that same innocent, yet completely malicious tone of voice. Sarcasm seemed to come with every jaded djinni.

'There's just something that rubs me in the wrong way whenever I speak to her,' confessed Nathaniel. Menta exasperated him to no end before she got the reaction she wanted, 'And no. There aren't any double entendres when I say that.'

She snorted loudly, which was a very unladylike thing to do, but it was perfectly characteristic for Menta. 'I wasn't going to say anything about _that_,' she said, but it was clear that she wasted a good insult, 'How could you possibly dislike her so much already? You've barely known her for a day?' She thought for a moment, 'Well, I knew that you were a stuck-up prick the moment I met you, but that's completely different.'

He glared at her; a vein was near to burst in his forehead, 'It's just the way she speaks! And the way she looks! And the way that she never seems to think. Even though I've only known her for a day, I can see that she isn't the type I wish to associate with! Is that good enough for you?' He was beginning to get very tired of this conversation and wanted nothing more than to go to bed.

'Maybe you should find out more of her and then you'll be able to pass judgment,' she replied calmly. He wondered how Menta managed to accomplish sarcasm and empathy at the same time. She was a djinni with a dry sense of humor and very ingrained morals, 'Look underneath the layers she's hiding under.'

'She's too one-dimensional to _have _any layers,' Nathaniel muttered sleepily as he made his way to his bedroom.

'I really do think I'm going to like this Linda McCartney,' Menta smiled to herself as she left the study. Nathaniel glanced at that serene smile on her face and he knew that no good could come from it.

After he got ready for bed and snuck underneath the covers. He stopped for a while as a thought struck him.

'_That_,' he thought, '_was a double entendre_.'

All the references I made to various aspects of pop culture are sure to be recognized, seeing as how I made them so bluntly obvious. Mhm, anyway, it was interesting to write, but I'm not very sure if it's interesting to read. Anyway, I'd love to hear feedback, so please, don't be afraid to type up a review. I like constructive criticism, but shameless praise is good too. Haha, just kidding. Still, it would be awesome to hear anything. I'd say something like "Flames will be used to light Faramir's pyre," but I never really liked people who did that, and flames are easy enough to handle. Still, I prefer feedback that is constructive, whether it is positive or negative. I think Menta's insane, and not in a good way, but you may not. So, whether or not we agree, I'd really love to hear from you. So, allow me to continue to beat the issue to death, please don't forget to review!

Oh, and Menta is completely fictitious, even though La Voisin and Savonarola are not. You know, kind of like William Gladstone being real too? That sort of stuff. bah, I'm not at all articulate today. Anyway, I made up Menta, but all of the things that La Voisin and Savonarola did are true.

I also apologize for Simpson's speech impediment and if you couldn't understand a word. I was just humoring myself. Ooh, here's a chance to say it again! Please don't forget to review! Thanks!


	5. Kitty: Just You Wait, John Mandrake

My ridiculous, inexplicable love for **My Fair Lady **has increased, since I've just watched the DVD recently. I think I'm really going to enjoy playing with this fic, since it's mostly going to be Nat and Kitty interacting with each other and it has the vague semblance of a plot (no, not really). Still, I'm having fun, but I don't think that I will be in a long time, since summer's ending and school's starting. Oh well, better enjoy this while it lasts. Anything recognizable is basically not mine, since I overuse all these allusions to aspects of popular culture. Really. I do. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

Many a thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. Namely, **CrystalPrincess13**, **ladyaymie**, and **AgiVega**. You're lovely people.

**_My Pretty Kitty_**

_**Chapter 5**_

_Kitty: Just You Wait, John Mandrake_

After the heated exchange, Kitty stalked angrily into the room Mandrake had provided for her. Simpson, his imp, called it her 'pied-a-terre,' but due to his speech impediment, it came off as 'feedh-ey-theer.' As livid as she was, she refused to give John Mandrake the satisfaction of seeing her fly off the handle. No, she would do what any other dignified person would do: throw a completely destructive temper tantrum in your own room, and then leave someone else to clean it all up.

What made her situation so appealing was that all the furnishings in her room were there at Mandrake's expense, and she had no problems with tearing down the tartan curtains the apparently, fashion-challenged magician had picked out for. The only downside was that Simpson, Mandrake's hilariously adorable imp, would probably be the one to clean up the mess she would make.

Still, Kitty was too furious to pay any regard to the imp's workload.

The bedroom was modestly furnished, with a queen-sized bed, a wooden desk and chair, a vanity, two bookshelves, a closet and a nightstand. There was another door in the room which led to her private bathroom, which she was thankful for. The walls were painted with an unhealthy shade of yellow and the wooden floor had a ridiculously shiny finish. The ceiling was painted a stark white, but there was a large, yellow stain in the center that resembled a potato chip. It was certainly better than her previous accommodations, but Kitty couldn't stand the sight of anything that was even remotely related to John Mandrake.

The moment she flung her bedroom door open, the headed for the curtains. With a strangled scream (which vaguely resembled a war cry), she raised her arms and yanked at the horrible material as hard as she could.

But to her horror the Curtains from Hell were still towering above her; stuck to her window sill, in all their monstrous glory. As if they were mocking her, they swayed naturally, untroubled by her interference. Upon closer inspected she saw that the voluminous curtains were attached to metal rings that seemed to be welded into place.

A shriek so loud that made the curtains tremble unleashed itself from Kitty's mouth and her full fury went with it. In a sudden fit of uncontrollable rage, she set about destroying everything she could, kicking down her chair, shoving the bookcase to the floor, overturning her desk, and smashing her vanity mirror to the ground.

But nothing would move. Everything was bolted in place.

Mandrake had anticipated her arrival, and her anger.

With a weaker, but still defiant yell, she plopped herself down angrily on her bed, worn by her futile attempts at destruction. She lay flat against her back, her arms and legs spread out across the cotton comforter. 'Damn you Mandrake!' she managed to yell through ragged puffs of air, '_You'll get what's coming to you, you will. Just wait and see, you slimy, little, hook-nosed git._'

Twice in a day he already gotten the best of her, and Kitty simply couldn't stand for that. She ignored the fact that this little, petty competition could jeopardize the mission, and focused all of her energy on plotting against John Mandrake.

'_He'll rue the day he ever crossed paths with Kitty Jo—Linda McCartney_,' Kitty reprimanded herself for the mental slipup, however insignificant it may be. She could not afford to blow her cover in front of Mandrake or any of his people, not even for the slightest bit. As far as she and the mission were concerned, her name was Linda McCartney, at least for six months.

_Names._

She remembered that Winston (who was most familiar with the History of Magicians) had told her that all magicians used fake names instead of their real ones. He had told her that in the wrong hands, a magician's real name could be used as a weapon and that with their birth name; you held power over that magician, you could control, manipulate, and utilize whatever power they had. Knowledge was power, and there was no exception in the world of politics.

She had to find out Mandrake's real name.

It would be a piece of information more vital than any blue print or contract, in terms of a political power play. Mandrake was sure to have enemies just waiting for his downfall and many would kill to know his true name, just to speed up the process.

Kitty shook her head. Taking down Mandrake wasn't the point of the mission. He was only the lesser of two evils, the greater being the Government, with Rupert Devereaux as its figurehead. Revealing Mandrake's name to another politician would only continue the cycle and whatever advantage the Resistance gained through the unwitting help of John Mandrake would have been lost. No, the government needed to be taken down, not just some oily haired, overgrown adolescent.

Weariness was tugging at her mind, and Kitty felt a bit of drowsiness settling on her eyelids. She continued plotting against Mandrake, but the ideas got a bit too farfetched. One involved pushing him into an ice cream machine and making soft serve out of his limbs.

A scratching sound coming from the door shook Kitty from her scheming and she turned her head to the side to see what was making the noise. The scratching continued for a few more moments, but it was followed by a surprisingly pleasant, female voice, 'May I come in?'

Kitty blinked, trying to fight off the weight on her eyes, 'Um, of course!' She leapt of the bed and immediately set to straighten her clothes out, before stopping herself and wondering why on earth she bothered to make herself presentable. She rubbed her eyes tiredly.

The door creaked open and the first thing Kitty saw were long, ominous roots that spilled out of the doorway and onto her polished, hardwood floor. The slithering roots were followed by a strangely elegant yet mildly overstated dress, however anachronistic it was. A woman caked in makeup wore the outfit, along with a yellowed bonnet and gnarly teeth.

Kitty stared at her with an impassive face, neither insulting nor forced, but Kitty had to put all her will power into forcing her jaw to stay in place and to keep her eyes from popping out.

'Good afternoon Miss McCartney,' the woman spoke, her voice surprisingly mellifluously and natural, 'I am Menta Deshayes, djinni of the fourth class, honorary member of the Knights of St. John, unwilling accomplice of the Countess—oh , never mind all of my achievements! Mandrake has told me such wonderful things about you.' The sarcasm in the djinni's voice was strangely comforting to Kitty, as it wasn't directly being used against her, or more importantly, because it was being used indirectly against Mandrake.

'I would have assumed that you were his girlfriend,' she said, flashing the djinni a cheeky smile while suppressing a yawn, 'but that would have been a most unfair insult to your taste.'

Surprisingly, the djinni laughed. Her laughter sounded like glass chimes, clinking together because of the lightest of breezes, 'Quite right,' Menta gave her a small smile, which looked more foreboding that it did reassuring, 'Anyway, I just wanted to meet you without any formalities. And little Johnny boy seems to think that sowing preconceived opinions about you will eventually grow into a deeply rooted loathing, but I'd rather that not happen. I may serve Mandrake, but he can be—

'A arrogant, pompous, bigoted arsehole?'

The djinni looked fairly amused, 'I was going to say 'dramatic,' but I suppose that words just the same.'

'What he doesn't want the "help" fraternizing with the "stray"?' Kitty asked, a hint of anger teetering around her voice. Was it Mandrake's plan to get the entire household to hate her, just to make her six month stay a living hell?

Menta just smiled at her. After a while with the djinni, the teeth and the roots became less impressive and less frightening and Kitty nearly mistook the smile as warmth, but she couldn't yet let her guard down.

'I knew that I would like you!' beamed the djinni, 'From the first time Mandrake mentioned you, I just knew you'd be much better company than him.' The djinni let out a more boisterous, more natural laugh.

Kitty cracked a smile, silently agreeing with the djinni, 'Thank you, I guess.'

Menta let out another laugh, 'Well, I had best take my leave now. John'll start getting suspicious if I'm away for too long. He is scheduled to wake up from his mid-afternoon nap at any time now. Dinner will be served soon, so wait until someone calls you. Don't worry about the next six months, Miss McCartney. Simpson and I won't let him do anything too drastic.'

'Please, call me Linda.' She applauded herself for such a smooth delivery, but she couldn't help but feel bad about lying to Menta, who, aside from Simpson, was the only being who had shown her any sort of empathy within the time she had arrived. The fact that Mandrake took naps hadn't registered into her brain immediately, but when it did, it made her sadistically giddy. She could see the tabloid headlines: _Information Minister, John Mandrake Getting Cozy with Ba-Ba, his Stuffed Elephant._

'Alright then, Linda,' replied Menta, shaking Kitty from her imaginary world (where Mandrake was in a large cradle and people surrounded him to point and laugh, ignoring the giant pink elephant that loomed from behind them). The djinni somehow managed to turn the doorknob and open the door as it creaked noisily on its hinges, but before she left, she turned back again to face Kitty, 'Oh, and I'm sorry about the door.'

The door swung back to reveal that its other side was decorated by a few dozen scratches and slashes.

'Ah.'

Kitty shrugged it off and even before her head hit the pillow, she was already asleep.

* * *

"Just you wait... Manderrk,' Kitty muttered in her sleep, 'Wait, you...' 

A loud knock shattered the peaceful stillness of the room, and Kitty was rudely awoken from her brief, but enjoyable sleep. She jumped out of bed as soon as she had heard it. Coughing abruptly to clear her voice she answered calmly, 'Who is it?'

The door opened and Mandrake entered the room, coattails swishing and all, 'Please tell me that I just interrupted some pathetic singing soliloquy?'

Deciding to ignore his scathing remark, Kitty met him eye to eye, defiantly facing him, 'Isn't it ungentlemanly to walk into a woman's room unannounced? I could have been indecent for all you know.'

'You are always indecent.'

Glaring at him, she slapped herself mentally, '_You walked right into that, Kitt—Linda._' Opting to take the high road—for now, Kitty chose not to comment about the issue and leave an already uncomfortable Mandrake in a precariously ungentlemanly situation.

She sat back down on her bed, as primly as possible; knees together, feet flat on the floor, hands on her lap, shoulders straight, and lips pursed in a barely concealed disdain. She looked at him straight in the eye, challenging him to continue.

He just blinked at her, unsure of what to say next.

A moment had passed but the two continued their staring match stand off. Kitty had no qualms about this lasting for hours. The only time she had to waste was his. And Kitty could see that he was wearing thin. Mandrake began to fidget; she could see the slightest trace of a twitch in his right index finger. And from that, she concluded her spectacularly subtle victory.

'I suppose you expect me to apologize?' he asked her irritably, arms akimbo. The uncomfortable silence had gotten to him and he, as Kitty had anticipated, had been the first to crack.

'It would be the gentlemanly thing to do.'

'Then I apologize, Miss McCartney,' he said, insincerity practically spilling from his voice as he gave her the most grandiose bow he could manage, 'for my previous behavior. It was most—how you had so aptly put "ungentlemanly."'

'Alright then,' she dismissed his award worthy performance casually, 'is that all you wanted to do? Come to my room, insult me, then beg for my forgiveness? I'd assume that there was an ulterior motive, unless of course you truly just enjoy my company.'

Two sets of eyes rolled simultaneously.

'Hardly,' he scoffed, 'I came to tell you that we'll be dining outside.' Kitty's head perked up considerably. She hadn't expected a dinner invitation, 'Don't look so excited; it's unbecoming and quite pathetic. We aren't dining anywhere swanky,' he cast a critical eye over her, 'I doubt that they'd even let your rummage through their garbage bins, much less let you into their restaurants.'

Kitty acknowledged the insult with a barely audible, 'Aow.'

'Anyway, freshen up and change for Gladstone's sake,' he must have thought that he looked rather posh in his tight suit and coattails, 'Benji already picked out an outfit for you. I think he left it in your closet. Please wear it, and try not to poke any unnecessary holes through the fabric, understand?'

She nodded demurely, but her rolling eyes and deceptive smile told Mandrake that she was anything but demure.

He headed for the door, after turning around in a perfect 180 degree angle and flicking his coattails. Before he left, he stopped to face her once again, 'And for Heaven's sake, what on earth happened to my door?' he exclaimed exasperatedly, gesturing to the mangled wooden board in the entrance.

'I thought that it would go well with the giant stain on the wall.'

'You have an appalling fashion sense.'

'So says the owner of the tartan curtains.'

* * *

'One... Two... Three!' 

Kitty flung open the closet door and released the breath that she had been holding. She had braced herself for what she was about too see behind the closet door, but this was certainly _too _much.

She knew that the pompous imp didn't harbor any good will towards her (and the feeling was mutual), but Kitty thought that it was downright sadistic to exact your revenge upon someone through the clothes they wore. Benji, the stupid stylist nose, was on a fashion warpath.

The excessively large closet only contained one article of clothing: a red dress.

It was completely over the top, and Kitty especially detested the frilly ruffles that spiraled downwards on the skirt and décolletage and the revealing neckline. The dress, she judged, would probably hang above her knees and the bust was deliberately two sizes too big for her. Upon closer inspection, Kitty gasped in horror after seeing sequins and fake diamonds sewn into the puffy sleeves and ruffles. There was a slight in the side of the skirt which she thought was indecently long, but the only redeeming factor Kitty saw in the dress was the long, elegant, black bow that was tied around the waist of the dress.

A poncho or a muumuu would have been more forgivable than this party favor.

Kitty just stared at the dress with a mixture of slack jawed horror and inestimable contempt.

Tearing her gaze away from the eyesore of a dress, she rummaged through the drawers of the closet and, much to her chagrin, found the accessories to match the dress: a pair of strappy, five-inch, red heels, a red purse with a large heart buckle that was encrusted by fake jewels, and a hideous red headband with a puffy ruffle glued onto it that was meant to resemble a rose.

As she held all the articles in her hands, Kitty felt a piece of herself die.

'_Oh stop being so dramatic Linda,_' she told herself, a sudden wave of boldness burst through inside he and her hands tightened around the garments. Her weakened resolved strengthened as she felt the fabric crunch underneath her fists. She wouldn't force the dress upon her worst enemy and she was certainly not going to sacrifice herself for Mandrake's cruel amusement. She wouldn't be forced into wearing this frilly fashion disaster by a floating nose. No. No creature could be _that _evil, especially one that was being charged to refine her style and fashion. Kitty was convinced that Mandrake was behind everything: the dress, the furniture—heck, even global warming.

'Kitty Jones is not going to take this lying down!' she told herself firmly as she formulated a plan, a design in her mind. Cackling quietly to herself, she slammed the closet doors shut and began to raid the drawers of her desk and vanity. In the middle of her search for a box of safety pins, she stopped herself, 'I mean Linda, Linda McCartney!'

After cursing herself for yet another slipup, and wondering briefly about the possible repercussions, Kitty ventured into her private bathroom, carrying with her an emergency sewing kit, a box of paperclips, a box of safety pins, and a dangerous looking pair of scissors.

There was no mistaking the maniacal glint in her eye.

And the same line repeated over and over in her head, becoming her mantra.

'_Just you wait, John Mandrake. Just you wait.'_

_

* * *

_

'Miss McCartney!' hollered a particularly ticked off John Mandrake as he paced along his living room. A good half hour had passed and Kitty was still hauled up in her room, much to Mandrake's chagrined, 'While we're still young, please!'

'Wait!' came the distant, but snappish reply. Kitty was nearly done; she was just fixing her hair and checking herself in the mirror one last time. It was unlike her to be vain, but this was a special situation with very strange circumstances.

Mandrake made a sound of discontent as he continued pacing around the room and talking to himself, 'This is what happens when you let a woman in your life. I should have nev—

'Mandrake!'

John Mandrake swiveled around to face Kitty Jones.

As soon as he saw her, his face contorted into an unconcealed, but well deserved horror.

She looked like a London punk, only instead of leather, there was tartan. A lot of tartan. Her hair wasn't any luminous shade of green or pink, but she emptied out a tub of gel and finished a can of mousse just to get it to stick up in three very pointy looking spikes, against the hideous headband, which was held in place by an assortment of paperclips. She cut away all of the ruffles from the dress and all the sequins and fake diamonds and instead she had sewn patches of tartan on the holes she had made. There were random rips around the back and on the body that were loosely pinned together with a few safety pins. The slit on the side of the skirt was sealed by a crisscrossing pattern of safety pins, decoratively stuck there. She had pinned random slips of tartan around the dress, and around the sleeves which hang limply from her shoulders. She snapped the heels off from her shoes and put them on top of her head, like some sort of antennae and wore the shoes as flats. She cut up the black sash that was meant to be around her waist and instead tied bits of it around her arms, legs, and around her neck. The black bands were decorated by a variety of paperclips, safety pins, and of course, tartan.

John Mandrake was spluttering with noiseless indignation and revulsion and Kitty couldn't have been more pleased. That was just the reaction she was hoping for. After he had found his voice, Mandrake began spluttering more vocally, 'You look like a tramp!'

She tittered mockingly, expecting the onslaught of insults, 'That's no way to speak to a lady.'

'You aren't even dressed like a lady!' He was fuming, he grabbed her wrist but immediately recoiled. He was stabbed by an unfastened safety pin, 'You aren't going out dressed like that!'

'I have no other clothes, Mister Mandrake,' she replied sweetly, the smile on her face was both angelic and prim.

'Didn't I tell you not to destroy these clothes? You've destroyed valuable couture!' he glared at her with a scandalized look.

'If I recall correctly, you said that I shouldn't make any "unnecessary holes,"' Kitty reminded him promptly, 'and all of this,' she said, gesturing to her outfit, 'I assure you, was necessary.'

More spluttering. 'Miss McCartney, _I assure you_ that you will not be going out in public like this!'

'Meeshter Mandreek,' the familiar voice of Simpson interrupted yet another staring contest between the two, 'Aye Meesh Djinn Fawaaw laeyft aye meeshage shaying dhat Meesh Fawaaw weel meeth yoo thoo een dha reshtooranth!'

Mandrake slapped his hand to his forehead and proceeded to rub his temples in consternation. A vein on his forehead was considerably throbbing more erratically than a while ago. Kitty positively beamed with pride, gloating about her victory. At last, Mandrake relented and conceded defeat.

'Fine. Fetch us a cab, Simpson.'

* * *

It didn't help too soothe Mandrake's temper on the ride to the restaurant (which was some sort of Mexican pub/restaurant near Leicester Square) that the cabby didn't know how to get to the place. Mandrake, at last, yelled at the driver to stop and, in a huff, he outside the cab and dragged Kitty along with him. The cabby didn't dare to ask him for his fare. 

Mandrake let out, what Kitty assumed to be a curse (he was bawling in some other language that Kitty couldn't understand) when he was stabbed yet again by the same safety pin, 'Will you please fasten that thing!' He yelled at her as he pinched the pinprick it made on his palm.

Silently, sheepishly, Kitty secured the safety pin. She practically shone with self-assurance and smugness, and even though this victory had her looking like a very desperate, very eccentric punk. Still, watching Mandrake squirm and stutter was beyond entertaining.

'Come on, we're walking,' He said to her gruffly, tugging at one of the sashes tied on her arm, 'We're near Leicester Square anyway.' He had pushed his hat as low as it could go and he tried to hide his face beneath his upturned collar. He walked away with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders bent.

'Too cheap to get another cab, are we?' asked Kitty, as cheekily as possible as she tried to catch up with him. He was waking a few paces a head of her and Kitty was having a difficult time keeping up. Mandrake walked too fast and her shoes weren't very practical, even though they had already been improved without the heels.

'Mandrake, wait up!' To her disgust, she stepped on a piece of chewing gum and got stuck on her shoe. As she tried to scrape it onto the sidewalk, she heard a grumbling Mandrake walking towards her.

'What is it now?' As soon as he was within reach, Kitty grabbed hold of his shoulder and used him to balance herself as she took off her right shoe. Wobbling a bit, she effectively scraped the shoe against the wall and the chewing gum was gone. Putting back her shoe, she patted him on the shoulder and stepped back away from him. He glared at the spot where her hand once had been, 'I don't appreciate being used as a handhold.'

She ignored that remark. 'Slow down, will you? I'm having a difficult time keeping up in this.' She gestured to her customized footwear and the very compromising length of her dress.

'Well then, I suppose you should have thought of that before deciding on your wardrobe,' his predictable reply came frostily from his stoic features.

'Please!' she scoffed and gestured wildly at their surroundings, 'My choice of clothing isn't that peculiar when you look at what some of the people are wearing here!'

She was right. There was a hen party going on a few meters away from them, and Kitty's outfit certainly paled in comparison. The girls were a speeding blur of glitter, tails, gauzy wings, and skin. There were also a few (obviously) drunken teenagers wearing togas. It would only be a matter of time before these two parties collided and chaos would rule the streets.

He grunted in response and tugged on her wrist once more, 'Come on! We're nearly there.' He continued to walk, but he matched his pace to hers so that they walked side by side, albeit a few feet apart, 'I can just see the tabloid headlines,' he muttered, '_Information Minister John Mandrake, Seen Cavorting with a Brunette Transvestite_.'

'You mean that guy over there?' replied Kitty, pointing to a drag queen who was winking suggestively as Mandrake.

'Ugh,' Mandrake barely disguised the disgust on his face, but he averted his gaze from the leering onlooker, 'I cannot possibly even begin to describe how disturbing the entire notion is.'

'You should be flattered. At least one gender is sexually attracted to you.'

'Why you—

Mandrake's predictable protest was cut short when a young, gangling lad roughly bumped into Kitty. She gave a cry of distress as she staggered back and lost her balance. Mandrake grabbed her arm and hoisted her back up.

After wiping his hand on his coat, he asked her, 'Did that hooligan steal anything from you?'

Kitty dusted herself off and checked her purse. There wasn't anything inside before, but she felt obligated to look, just to appease Mandrake's probing eyes. To her well veiled surprise, instead of the boy taking something from her, he had left something in her purse: a cellular phone.

'_It must have been Kurt,_' she thought, marveling at his ability to transform himself into a lowlife pickpocket, 'No, nothing stolen. Not that I had anything to be stolen. I bet if that boy had run into you, you'd accuse him of sexually assaulting you, you homophobe.' Kitty took pleasure in riling him up.

'Listen here yo—

'We're here!' Kitty exclaimed with a grandiose flourish, effectively cutting off another one of Mandrake's predictable protest, 'Where's that witch, lady friend of yours? Jane was it? Janis? I've always been terrible with names.'

'First of all, she is not a witch,' objected Mandrake, straightening his tie at the mention of her name, 'And secondly, you will address her as—Miss Farrar!' Mandrake was taken for a surprise as Farrar practically appeared out of nowhere. She was carrying a gadget that was a cross between a remote controller and a cellular phone, which was used so that the restaurant could call you once a table was freed up and a sleek, stylish satchel, 'Lovely to see you again.'

She nodded casually at John, barely acknowledging him, much to his chagrin, but most of her attention was directed at Kitty. 'A very interesting choice of wardrobe, Miss McCartney!' noted Farrar, who was eyeing the girl's clothes, searching for every detail, 'Very risqué! Very bondage!' She picked at the strips of tartan and the black ties, 'You pull it off quite nicely, actually!'

Kitty blinked. Jane Farrar actually seemed as if she was telling the truth, with her approving, almost admiring gaze. She felt incredibly silly in her outfit, but it seemed that Farrar thought she was making a bold, deliberate fashion statement.

Mandrake was in just as much disbelief, 'You mean you actually like what she's wearing?'

'Of course, John!' she swatted his arm, 'Don't you?' A slow, alluring smile crept upon her face and as soon as he saw it, Mandrake immediately turned into the blubbering, gibbering idiot Kitty preferred.

'Why yes, of cour—Yes! Why wouldn't I like her outfit?' he gave a nervous chuckle as Jane made a slight tch-ing sound, 'It just wholly represents the pinnacle of contemporary British fashion! It completely displays the youth and rebelliousness that—

Mandrake's extemporaneous monologue on British Fashion and Culture, in general was cut short by a loud ringing sound and the contraption Farrar was carrying lit up. Farrar, amidst her amusement of Mandrake's pitiful attempt at a cover-up, she informed them that the table was ready. They headed deeper into the restaurant and went upstairs to where their table was.

'Alright then, we'll order our drinks first, I suppose,' Jane said to the waiter attending to them as they occupied the seats around a table, 'an iced margarita please. A pitcher.' She said, winking at the young waiter.

He had dark hair and green eyes and a tall and lanky physique. According to the tag on his shirt, his name was Freddie and after jotting down Farrar's order, he turned attentively towards Kitty, 'and what'll you be having, Miss?'

He put his palms on the table and leant in closer towards Kitty. He gave her a meek, unassuming smile, but Kitty averted her eyes, her cheeks were tinted red but a small, flattered smile fluttered onto her face. Mandrake coughed and intruded upon their moment, 'I'll have a pilsner.'

The waiter, who looked fairly annoyed, scoffed at Mandrake's order, but jotted it down dutifully. Kitty, looking a bit amused herself interjected and gave her order, 'I guess I'll have a Coca-Cola.'

'Alright, Miss.' He flipped his little spiral notebook and headed off to fetch their drinks. The back of his shirt said "Hot Hombre."

Farrar found this particularly amusing, 'Hot hombre's right,' she smirked as she watched him walk away. 'Don't you think so, Linda?' She asked Kitty, a trace of disdain in her face as she looked at her.

Kitty didn't say anything, a bit embarrassed, but gave a small laugh as a response. Jane laughed along with her.

Mandrake, looking fairly peeved at the attention _the waiter_ was getting so much attention, decided to interrupt their little girly moment, 'Anyway, Jane, to what do we owe the honor of this little dinner?'

'Oh! Oh yes,' Jane unlatched the clasp of her bag and slid out two sheets of parchment, 'I've decided to seal the deal on this whole wager, but instead of contracts, I've decided that you two should swear oaths instead. They are more binding that contracts, since its practically your soul that's bound to the oath.'

Mandrake winced, 'Those courses on Satanic Law have been put to good use, I see.'

'Definitely,' she replied as she handed out the sheets, 'Just read through the oaths and then, John, you can go first, read it aloud. Those words are legally, spiritually, and physically binding, so take heed of all the limitations and obligations you will have to comply with once you swear the oath.'

'Parchment?' mumbled Mandrake as he received it, clearly a bit unnerved, 'How archaic.'

The two read through each of their oaths and after Freddie had returned to their table to deliver their drinks, Mandrake broke the silence, 'Alright then. I suppose I'll go first, right?'

Kitty found the entire ordeal stupid. Why on earth would they name a dead magician, who killed hundreds of people and djinn, as a witness, when he wasn't even present? Why was the oath written in this old, moldy parchment? Why was the ink red? Was it blood? She grumbled slightly. Magicians did things in such vainglorious and gratuitous ways.

Jane nodded and Mandrake cleared his throat before he began. Kitty watched in silence. Mandrake spoke in a haughty, much deeper than usual sounding voice.

'With William Gladstone as my witness, I, John Mandrake, swear that I will abide by all of the predetermined regulations of the wager conducted by myself and Miss Jane Farrar, which include housing and educating Miss Linda McCartney in the ways of high society and class. I swear not to abuse my position and not to purposefully harm Miss Linda McCartney, unless provoked or required. I swear to remain faithful and honest to the aforementioned wager and not use any deceptions in order to succeed. Until the wager has been terminated or fulfilled (which is in six months), all of this, I swear, so help me God.'

Farrar clapped sarcastically, 'Excellent, John.' He looked flushed from saying all of those words in practically three breaths. Farrar turned to Kitty, 'You're turn Linda, but you don't need to be as dramatic.'

Mandrake flushed even more.

Kitty shrugged and began, slowly, but steadily, 'With William Gladstone as my witness, I, Linda McCartney, swear that I will abide by all of the predetermined regulations of the wager conducted by Mister John Mandrake and Miss Jane Farrar. I swear to follow whatever instruction Mister Mandrake gives me, as he educates me in the ways of high society and class. I swear not to leave the Mister Mandrake's house without his knowledge and to make my whereabouts known to him. I swear to perform no acts of dishonesty during this wager and to attend the ball. Until the wager has been terminated or fulfilled (which is in six months), all of this I swear, so help me God.'

Kitty blinked after her dispassionate reading of the ridiculous oath. That was quite possibly the most stupid thing she had read in a long time, but the magicians took it quite seriously, apparently.

'Alright then, I'm off,' she said, before downing her iced margarita and snatching the pieces of parchment, 'I'll frame these once I get home,' She grinned wickedly as she got up from the small table.

Mandrake looked positively horrified and abashed. He stood up right after she had, 'What? You aren't joining us for dinner?' He looked so pathetic, staring at her imploringly, like a little, lost puppy, begging for a treat.

'I have a date.' She winked. And with that she was gone.

Mandrake's face fell, the moment she left. He sat on his chair with a crestfallen expression, moping about her absence and sudden departure. He sighed and pouted like a spoiled boy. Kitty found it too amusing for words.

'You're pathetic.'

'You're just jealous.'

'That she's got a date? Maybe. Anything and anyone would have to be better than the company I'm in now.'

'Oh, so I suppose you'd want to spend time with that "hot hombre" over there then?'

'Now who's jealous?'

'I am not.'

'Of course you aren't.'

Mandrake's silence had convinced Kitty she had won this little sparring match and she victoriously took a long sip from her drink. She eyed the iced margarita pitcher Farrar had left and poured some of it into an empty glass. Mandrake just watched her, tightlipped and crossly. She took a sip of the drink and found that she liked it, 'Ooh, I think I'd order more of this.'

She poured the rest of the pitcher into her glass and suddenly Freddie came back and asked if they were ready to order. Handing them the menus, he waited as they decided upon what to eat.

'I'll have the chicken fajita,' Mandrake said, after just a few moments of scanning through the laminated menu. He stiffly handed the menu back to the pretty boy waiter who took it with an oblivious smile.

'Hm, me too,' Kitty said absentmindedly, but a conspiratorial cackle resounded evilly in her head, 'but I'd also like a beef one and the lamb one too. Oh and the pork as well. I'd also like a plate of baby back ribs, a plate of nachos, and a plate of chicken wings: spicy and mild, five tacos and three burri—oh! You know what, just get me everything on the menu,' she smiled sweetly at the surprised waiter, who took the menu speechlessly from her outstretched hand, 'Oh, and how about another pitcher of this,' she said pointing to the iced margarita.

Mandrake looked equally shocked, but he was more livid than he was surprised, 'You can't possibly be serious! How will you finish all that?'

'I've not eaten a thing ever since I bumped into you,' she retorted. It was true. She hadn't had a meal ever since the morning and while she was famished, she certainly wasn't up to eating all that she had ordered. Still, if it meant hurting Mandrake and his wallet, there was no deed, great or small, that wouldn't go unnoticed.

Mandrake looked positively enraged, 'You cannot order all that food!'

'What?' Kitty's voice rose in volume and the attention of the room went to her, 'You'd deprive me of food? You'd let me starve and watch you eat? You swore that you wouldn't abus—

'Alright!' Hissed Mandrake, who was hiding his face from the inquisitive, disapproving glances of the other customers, 'Just don't cause a scene, woman' He nodded curtly to Freddie who gathered his wits and left.

They waited for their food in silence. Both of them were wrapped up in their own thoughts. Kitty was trying very hard to suppress the grin that was eating away at her face. Mandrake was extraordinarily irritated, and Kitty was proud that she had done it. It may have been extremely obvious, but Kitty this was one of those special circumstances when subtlety was just a hindrance.

After five minutes or so, the first of the dishes had begun to arrive. Mandrake's order came first and he waited until Kitty's orders came before he began. Kitty would have considered it as an act of a gentleman were it not for the constant sneer and disdain that were on his face whenever she seemed to be concerned.

Kitty's fajita dishes came soon too and she started on them already. Mandrake began to eat too, grinding on his food a bit too insistently. Kitty's order just began to pour in and they soon ran out of table space. Freddie, who although seemed to be having a hard time, enjoyed going back and forth.

Kitty spared him a small, unassuming smile, before she attacked the nachos he had set on the table. They spent their meal in silence and Mandrake was soon finished, but Kitty had barely made a dent in her order.

Mandrake's plates were cleared away to make room for more of Kitty's food and all he could do was sit back and watch.

He watched her roll up a fajita and eat it, take a sip of her iced margarita, eat a chicken wing, take a sip of her Coca-Cola, eat a baby back rib, get a refill for her Coca-Cola, eat an ear of corn, take a sip of her margarita, wipe her mouth with a napkin, smile at Freddie, roll another fajita and eat it, take a sip of her Coke, eat a potato halve filled with cheese, eat a sausage, take a sip of her drink, and eat and eat, till it made Mandrake want to bang his head on the table.

Maybe two hours had passed, and Kitty wasn't even halfway done with her meal. She had taken a little bit from every dish, but she hadn't completed a single one. She had already stuffed herself to gross proportions and she felt that she couldn't eat anymore.

Leaning back in her chair with her hands on her full stomach, she let out a groan and a small hiccup. The food was delicious, but the sheer quantity of it was just too much for any sane person to finish, 'Can't. Eat. No. More.' She let out a small hiccup.

'Oh great,' grunted Mandrake, who was less than pleased, 'You waste my money on a meal you can't finished and you're sloshed.'

'I'm not sloshed!' she protested, 'I can hold my liquor very well, thank you very much. Not that there's much liquor in a margarita.'

'You drank about three pitchers,' muttered Mandrake, who was rubbing his face in his hands. It was probably past his bedtime. He faced her again, the irritation evident in his glare, 'Is that really all you can eat?'

Kitty nodded soundlessly.

'Good, let's just have it wrapped up and get out of here,' he mumbled wearily, 'I have a meeting to attend to at eight in the morning and I'm just absolutely sick of this place.' He waved back the attention of the waiter and told him to wrap everything up.

Kitty just stayed still, leaning against the back of her chair, hands on her stomach. She reached for her purse, which she set on the empty chair and pretended to preoccupy herself by searching for something. She hid her face behind her bag to hide the huge grin that was on it. It was a delightful way to bring Mandrake pain; it certainly appeased not only her entertainment, but her appetite as well, but she couldn't help but wonder if she had brought it too far. She felt incredibly sleepy.

The leftover food came, wrapped up in two, large, brown paper bags, along with the bill. Flipping open the cover, Mandrake braced himself, but he couldn't help his jaw sag a bit. The price was enormous. He glared so venomously at Kitty that it may have killed any lesser being.

Kitty just smiled innocently.

Mandrake reluctantly took out a thick wad of bills from his wallet and set them on the table. An assortment of twenties and a few coins lay there as Nathaniel stared at them forlornly, as if bidding them farewell.

'Penny pincher.' scoffed Kitty.

'Pig.' He replied easily, 'Come on, we're leaving.' He got up from his chair and took the bags of the leftover food. The grim, constrained expression on his face was signal enough that he was through.

Kitty didn't even bother to be offended by his insult. She took her purse and followed him outside; walking a bit unsteadily due to the amount of food she had eaten the number of drinks she had ingested.

They had walked a distance from the restaurant, passing a number of cabs and buses. Kitty was lagging behind, rubbing her arms to keep her warm. She looked tentatively at the hard expression on his face, 'Are we walking home?'

'Yes, Miss McCartney, we are,' his voice sounded so forced and she could see his grip on the bags tightening, 'It's practically midnight, so most of the buses will stop circulating! We don't have enough money for a cab, much less a Tube ticket! I am definitely not hitchhiking and I do not have my mobile phone to call for a driver!' His arms were flailing everywhere, the paper bags flinging precariously in the air.

Kitty blinked after his little outburst, 'Ah, well, you shouldn't have forgotten it then.'

Mandrake didn't reply, but she heard a feral growl coming from the back of his throat and she heard him grind his teeth. They continued walking, in silence, not really enjoying each other's company. Mandrake kept gnashing his teeth and Kitty kept running her hands over her arms.

'Are you cold?' he snapped at her, irritated by her constant fidgeting.

'Yes.'

He quickly stepped out of his overcoat, 'Here.' He said, plopping it onto her narrow shoulders. He immediately began walking forward once more, but Kitty didn't miss the expression on his face.

She accepted the gift hesitantly, 'Uh, thank you?' She wore the coat properly and increased her pace to catch up with him. They continued their journey home in complete silence and the two of them were completely grateful for it. Time passed as quickly as their pace and when they arrived at Mandrake's townhouse, it was nearly one in the morning.

'Goodnight, Miss McCartney,' greeted Mandrake, formal, stiff, and forced. He went into his kitchen to store the food, but when he came out, he was surprised to find Kitty waiting outside, holding his coat out to him.

Her expression was cool and nonchalant, 'Thank you for the coat, Mister Mandrake,' she decided to add, feeling bold; 'It was the most gentlemanly thing you did for me the whole night.'

He seemed taken aback by her sudden gesture.

'Nah, keep it,' he replied, trying to look as reserved as her, 'It's a ratty old thing anyway.'

* * *

Aaww, awkward Nat and Kitty moments: my favorite! Haha. Sorry, I don't usually go for lovey-dovey Nat and Kitty; I like them more real, more awkward, more cynical, more entertaining, more realistic. I know that Eliza Doolittle never particularly went out of her way to sabotage Henry Higgins, but Kitty just isn't Eliza. I feel the need to deviate from the original story, of course. This chapter was really entertaining to write, not sure if it's an entertaining read, but we'll see. I hope it was okay. For one thing, the aforementioned restaurant is actually real. Yeah, I've eaten there once, actually. The food's excellent. 


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